


The Morning After

by magalina



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drinking, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Unrequited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8403577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magalina/pseuds/magalina
Summary: Sam wakes up to find himself naked in bed next to one of his best friends. He thinks Peter is going to hate him and that Jay is going to help him out. He's going to be surprised on both accounts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fictionpress in 2010.

Sam and Peter have known each other for seven years, but Sam has only wanted to sleep with Peter for about six and a half. He doesn’t feel guilty about it anymore, like he’s betraying his friend by making him believe his looks and touches are completely innocent. It doesn’t bum him out much anymore, either. But that could be because Peter is sleeping next to him right now, and he doesn’t seem to be wearing much under the covers.

Sam is a bit surprised at first – it’s been about five months since the last time he woke up next to someone. A moment later he’s warm all over, a sense of fulfillment enveloping him as he takes on Peter’s features. And finally, his stomach drops as memories from the night before start to make their way through his brain.

He remembers drinking. He remembers Peter drinking even more. He remembers an argument and then stumbling onto his bed under Peter’s body.

He had been drunk but Peter had been completely wasted.

Sam tries to tell himself he isn’t even sure something happened last night, so maybe he _didn’t_ take advantage of his friend. Maybe they just wrestled a bit and fell asleep without noticing. But he can feel he’s naked and a quick (okay, maybe not _quick_ ) glance under the covers reveals that Peter is too. There’s also another kind of evidence down there he doesn’t even want to think about.

Peter’s fingers twitch slightly before he turns on his back, managing to lower the covers just below his hips and Sam stares at the dust of hair going from his chest to his groin almost in a daze. He gazes at the small burn scar on his side from that time, years ago, when he leaned on the stove. He stares at the very obvious bruise marking the spot where Sam probably attached his mouth just a few hours ago, right where his neck and shoulder meet. Peter’s hair is too short for fingers to get tangled in, but it looks like Sam did his best anyway – the light brown strands are all sticking up backwards.

In slow, quiet movements, Sam gets out of bed, repressing a shiver as the morning chill slipping through the window hits his bare limbs. He tip-toes across his room to the bathroom and locks the door behind him, instantly collapsing against it with a shuddering sigh.

All he can think about is that Peter will _hate_ him. Because Sam has wanted to sleep with Peter for six and a half years, but he’s been in love with him for five years, eleven months, two weeks, three days, six hours and about fifteen or sixteen minutes. Approximately. And if he just ruined everything because he was unbelievably horny last night he is not going to be able to forgive himself.

A small, _depraved_ part of his mind is disappointed he doesn’t remember more about what happened. He knows Peter well enough (and has fantasized about him enough times) to guess his expressions or what he could have possibly said during everything. But Peter was terribly drunk last night, all his inhibitions forgotten, all his walls down, and who knows how he acted, what he said, what kind of noises he made. That treacherous little part of Sam’s brain is unbelievably disappointed.

Meanwhile, the rest of him is in a kind of trance, because Peter is never going to speak to him again and all he can do is sag against his bathroom door, naked and in need of a toothbrush.

A glance in the mirror makes him want to hit himself. He looks well-fucked. His mouth is swollen, his dark hair, though as short as Peter’s, is a complete mess, his chest is covered in red marks and… there’s something about his eyes. It’s like his dirty self is peeking out of them, making them twinkle with something close to satisfaction. He looks away before he actually punches his reflection.

With what feels like a super-human effort, Sam pushes himself off the door and steps into the shower. He brushes his teeth under the spray, trying to think of something to say that can somehow fix everything.

Fuck, he wishes he could remember what happened.

He can tell that, whatever they did, he didn’t bottom. Which makes it all the worse. Sam may have been drunk, but he didn’t do anything that he wouldn’t have wanted to do while sober. As for Peter…. He’s going to die, actually _die_ , if he hurt him.

It takes courage he doesn’t even have to walk out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later. He opens the door as quietly as he can, hoping to delay the confrontation, but when he looks towards his bed, Peter isn’t there. His mouth goes dry and he clutches the towel around his waist in a tight grip.

Peter left. Peter left and he probably hates him. Sam took advantage of his friend and ruined everything because he has always been a pathetic fuck-up.

He puts on his underwear and some jeans he finds on the chair near his bed, all the while feeling numb, not even registering the cold. His mind is blank when he drags himself to the kitchen, a headache dully starting to bloom behind his eyes. He nearly screams when he sees Peter sitting at the kitchen table, but manages to hold it in, stumbling backwards in shock instead. Peter looks at him like he’s an idiot and sips at his mug.

“Pet– What, um, hi,” he splutters and then wants to bang his head against the doorframe. Peter stares at him over the rim of his mug, blue eyes slightly narrowed, and Sam feels _very_ naked. He crosses his arms over his bare chest in what he hopes looks like a casual gesture.

There’s a heavy silence in the room that might drive Sam mad if Peter doesn’t break it soon. When he does, his soft, low voice brings back memories that the dirty part of his brain enjoys way too much.

“Hey,” Peter says, lowering the mug onto the table. The room smells like coffee and rain and Sam is starting to get cold now. His feet are freezing, bare on the tiled floor and his arms are covered in goose bumps. “I grabbed your sweatshirt. I was cold.”

Sam then notices Peter is wearing his college sweatshirt, the one he had on the night before, and an electric chill runs through him.

“S’okay,” he mumbles, not daring to look into Peter’s eyes again. He hesitates a moment, considering going back into his bedroom to find more clothes, but decides against it. He’s afraid that if he leaves, Peter won’t be here when he comes back.

He gets himself a mug from the shelf and sits at the table across from the other man. Then he remembers he can’t actually drink air and gets up to get coffee from the pot. Peter looks a little amused when Sam sits back down, but there’s a weird strain around his eyes that wasn’t there yesterday. He looks pasty under the white kitchen light, a bit sick, maybe. He drank too much and he probably regrets everything that happened.

Sam doesn’t know what to say. All he can think of it’s how _sorry_ he is, but the words won’t come out of his mouth.

“You were right about the rain,” Peter says out of nowhere. “It poured all morning.”

Sam blinks, unable to _believe_ Peter is talking about the weather. He looks at the clock above them and finds that it’s already past midday. Then he freezes because, how does Peter know it had been raining all morning? He wants to know if Peter was awake while Sam slept. If he lay next to him for hours, hating him in silence or maybe wondering what had happened last night. Sam knows Peter has to be aware of what they did, even if he can’t remember the details.

“We’ll have to leave the game for next weekend,” Peter continues and Sam feels relief flood him. Whatever Peter is thinking, he’s still willing to be next to him. He doesn’t hate him. But Sam doesn’t like that he’s apparently planning on not talking about it.

“Peter, I–” he begins, but he’s cut short by the man’s sudden, trapped look.

Oh, boy, what the hell happened last night? Did he do something so awful Peter doesn’t even want to bring it up? Or is the idea of sleeping with Sam _that_ revolting?

“I…think next weekend sounds great,” he finishes, looking away.

Peter nods, the mug back over his lips. He starts bouncing his foot on the floor and the table rattles slightly.

Sleeping with him was once a possibility. Back when they weren’t friends but were more than acquaintances, there used to be a certain vibe around them. The vive two available and sexually compatible people feel when they spend too much time together. For some reason or other, neither of them acted on it until eventually they were too close and there was too much to lose.

Watching Peter jump from one relationship to another over the years had hurt Sam, but he hadn’t been exactly celibate himself.   

He’d still wanted Peter, but he wouldn’t make the first move. Strained silences and awkward conversations were not something he wanted to go back to. Not with Peter. And now he's fucked it up.

Just yesterday, a morning like this would have been spent talking about nothing, not thinking of something to say. Mentioning the weather would not have been so telling. Sam feels horrible – he wishes he could turn back time. Why did they have to drink so much? Why couldn’t Sam, for once, keep it in his pants after a couple of drinks? Why couldn’t _Peter_?

They don’t really talk after those first few sentences. Peter tries to make small talk and Sam finds it impossible to look at him and go along. He wants Peter to yell at him, to acknowledge what happened somehow. He doesn’t want to ignore it, this way it’s just going to be worse later.

But he can’t bring himself to say anything either, the words don’t want to leave his mouth. There’s too much that could go wrong and only a little chance that things will go smoothly.

An interminable hour later, Peter leaves, making up an excuse about having a doctor appointment. The second the front door clicks closed, Sam lunges for the phone.

“Yes,” Jay answers after the first ring.

“I had sex with him,” Sam bursts out and instantly feels lighter, an enormous weight lifted off of him. 

There’s a small pause and a rustling sound coming from the other side of the line.

“Sam? You were on speakerphone just now,” Jay says, sounding amused. “About half the floor heard you. You had sex with whom?”

“Peter! I slept with him,” he cries, not feeling a bit embarrassed for the moment. 

“What?” Jay’s tone is suddenly serious, all humor slipping away from his voice. “Peter? Our Peter?”

Sam nods, his free hand over his eyes. “Yes.”

“You complete _asshole_ ,” Jay hisses. “Why? When?”

“Last night. We were drunk.”

“Of course you were. Where is he now? Is he still there?” Jay has a very effective way of being intimidating even over the phone. He’s suddenly all crisp and business-like, so detached that one would think they haven’t known each other for years.

“He just left. Jay, I…I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to….”

“You are having lunch with me,” Jay cuts him off. “Meet me down here at two and we’ll talk. I can’t believe– Jesus _fuck_ , I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

Sam starts to feel cold again when he puts the phone back and he walks to his bedroom with his head down to look for a shirt. Peter took his sweatshirt, he realizes as he finds the man’s sweater thrown over a chair. He hesitates a second before putting it on. It itches against his bare skin, but he ignores it as he looks around him.

Every little thing in the room is evidence of what happened the night before. The few items of clothing no one picked up yet are still scattered on the floor, there are half-empty glasses on his nightstand and his bed…his bed is mostly bare. Only the cover remains on it, the pillows and sheets have been kicked aside.

Sam stands at the foot of the bed for a moment, staring down at the mess before he grabs everything in his arms and takes it to the laundry room. He throws the lot (pillows and all) inside the washing machine in a fit of fury and closes the lid with a loud bang. Seething and miserable, he goes back to the room to clear away every thing that will remind him of what happened. The clothes end up in the machine, too. Glasses in the sink and bottles in the trashcan.

Later, when he’s already on his way to meet Jay and he realizes he’s still wearing Peter’s sweater, he wishes he could throw himself in the trash, too.

\--

Jay is already waiting for him at the small restaurant downstairs from his office, looking strange in casual wear so close to work, and Sam rushes across the street to meet him. He plops himself on the chair across from his friend and sighs. It had been threatening to rain since he left his apartment, but the dampness in his hair is from practically running all the way there. 

“You’re on time. You really must be worried,” Jay says around the cigarette in his mouth. He gives the sweater a pointed look, his eyebrows up, but Sam only looks at him. It’s Saturday and the place is mostly empty so a waitress is instantly standing in front of them. They order coffee and a bagel for Jay and then go back to staring at each other in silence.

“Jay,” Sam begins but stops when the man holds up his hand.

“I thought we agreed that fucking your friends wasn’t a good idea after what happened with Stephen,” he says and Sam slumps in his seat. “And after Mike and Will and that other guy with the legs, the Italian one, I thought we agreed that fucking your roommates was an even worse idea. Especially if that roommate is your friend and has a history of having made too many drunken mistakes already without adding _you_ to the equation.”

“He’s not my roommate,” Sam mutters, not being able to deny anything else.

“He’s been sleeping on your couch for over a month now. He goes grocery shopping for you, for fuck’s sake. He does the fucking laundry. If he’s not your roommate, then he’s working for you. You choose.”

“He doesn’t pay rent, he’s just staying until–”

“He pays with his ass, apparently,” Jay cuts him off. “Or his cock. Though I’m willing to bet that given how long you’ve been drooling over him you didn’t give him a choice, did you? Did he even–?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jay. Do you _want_ me to start crying? Because I fucking will if you don’t stop.” Sam whines at him, still slouching and barely able to look up. Jay sighs, taking his cigarette between his fingers and then dangling his arm across the back of his chair.

“Okay, that was out of line. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says, the sarcasm in his tone nearly cutting Sam in half. “I can’t fucking believe you, Sam.”

“Look, I didn’t plan it, okay? It just happened. I can’t… I can’t even remember most of it.” Jay gives him a murderous look before the waitress arrives with their order.

They stare at each other in silence while she sets everything down and, when she’s gone, Jay makes a show of pouring sugar in his coffee and ignoring him. Sam buries his face in his palms, nervous and angry. 

Jay can be an asshole when he wants to, but Sam knows he can’t help himself when Peter is concerned.

Is not that he’s attracted to him, no matter how many times Jay may have fooled around with another guy when going out with them to a club or a bar over the years, he’s into women like…well, like Sam is into Peter.

Jay’s overprotectiveness is more related to him being the Mom Friend.

Jay has known the two of them since college and Peter (even now, at twenty-six years old) has the talent of seeming helpless even though he’s as much of a hornball as Sam himself. Jay was always the one to drive them back to the dorms when they were too drunk – or high – to walk, and the one who cleaned the puke off the bathroom floor, and the one who put out his shoulder whenever one of them needed it to cry on.

His patience, though, always had a limit when it came to Sam. But it only took one look at Peter’s big eyes, a small quirk of his pretty mouth, and Jay would agree to anything.

“Okay,” Jay finally says, dropping the cool act and putting the cigarette out in the ashtray next to his bagel. “Tell me what happened, just _please_ , spare me the details.”

“I don’t know,” Sam begins, speaking into his hands and looking at Jay through his pale fingers. “It was like every other night. We were talking and drinking only we didn’t stop after a couple of glasses. Peter said he wanted to get drunk and we just kept going. Then, I don’t know why, we started… arguing about something. I can’t even… And then we were suddenly in my room and, well… you know. Only I can’t remember anymore after that.” 

“How do you know you had sex? Maybe you didn’t even get to that, if you were so drunk you can’t remember a thing, maybe you couldn’t get it up and you just fell asleep.” 

“We were naked this morning,” Sam says and Jay glares at him. “And something definitely happened, there was…someone was able to get it up, Jay. I know that, at least.”

After a moment in which Jay looks like he’s considering punching Sam in the face, he asks, “What about today, then? Did he say anything?”

“He acted like nothing had happened. He started talking about the weather. The _weather_ , Jay.” Sam’s voice cracks a little and he clears his throat and sips at his mug to hide it, his hands less than steady. “Anyway, it was awkward and horrible and I don’t know what to do.”

“Where do you think he is now?” Jay takes a bite off his bagel, his eyes fixed on Sam. “He didn’t call me.”

That’s what’s probably bothering Jay the most, Sam thinks. If Peter is so upset about what happened, why hasn’t he called him? Probably because he knew Sam would call him too. Maybe because he can’t even put words to what happened.

Sam shrugs. “He said he had a doctor’s appointment. Bullshit, on a Saturday? He could be anywhere.”

“Okay. Okay, just go back to your place and wait for him. He'll either come here or go back there.”

“But, Jay,” Sam can hardly speak. He runs his hands through his hair once and takes a breath. “What if I did something awful to him?”

Jay sighs. He stares at Sam for a moment before a small smile appears on his lips.

“You’d never hurt him, Sam. Not even drunk out of your mind. He’s probably just embarrassed and hung-over. Wait for him at your place.”

And this, this is what Sam wanted from Jay. Reassurance and a smile, nothing else. And Jay never fails to deliver, even if he’s an ass about it.

“Thanks, Jay,” Sam breathes and Jay scoffs, reaching into his pocket for a new pack of cigarettes.

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?”

“Of course not.” A pause and then, “I love him.” 

“I love him too, only _I_ have a better way of showing it.” Jay lights his cigarette and puffs out a cloud of grey smoke to the side. Sam stares at his cup of coffee before looking up again.

“No,” he says. “I mean I _love_ him.”  

Jay lowers the hand with the cigarette onto the table, his eyes hard on Sam. His mouth pulled up in a small, incredulous sneer.

“No, you don’t,” he says, his words slow.

“Always have.”

“You don’t _love_ him, you just want to fuck him.” Jay’s voice is rising and Sam catches the waitress looking their way. “Fuck him and remember it the morning after, that is. You’re a dumbass, Sam. I mean it. Stop saying ridiculous things and–”

“I’m not joking, Jay. I do and if I made him fucking hate me…I don’t know what I’ll do,” Sam says and clasps Peter’s sweater in his hands just out of Jay’s view. It’s a really ugly sweater, Sam doesn’t know why Peter likes it so much. Besides, it’s still itching. Sam can smell Peter on it, though, and that smell makes something inside him stir.

“I don’t believe it,” Jay mutters, putting the new cigarette out, almost sending the ashtray skidding to the floor. “I don’t freaking believe it.”

“It’s true.”

Jay looks at him, stares right at him for what feels like a full minute until Sam starts to fidget in his seat and averts his eyes.

“Don’t you dare tell him that,” Jay says and leans back in his chair. Sam frowns.

“Why not? I have to or he’ll think- He’ll think I just wanted to fuck him.”

“You do just want to fuck him, Sam. You just don’t realize it.”

“I don’t!” Sam stands, reaches into his jeans pocket and fishes out a folded up bill. “I’m gonna go wait for him.”

He slaps the bill onto the table and turns to leave.

“Sam,” Jay sighs. “I’m not saying this to mess with you, just think about it.”

But Sam doesn’t turn around. He stalks out of the restaurant, his mood worse than when he came in. He can’t help but rush back home, hoping that Peter will go back, a thousand apologies ready on his lips and Jay’s words fresh in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

Jay calls Sam’s cell phone about four times before he reaches his apartment building, and by then he’s so fed up he turns the thing off and buries it deep in his pocket.

Knowing Jay, he probably wants to take back what he said; having regretted it a minute after he said it, though he probably meant it. But Sam doesn’t want to hear him apologize, he’s too worried about what he has to do right now – go up to his apartment, wait for Peter and fix this before it’s too late.

It started raining again when he was still two blocks away, and by the time he’s turning his key in the lock, he feels drenched to his bones. He’s biting his lip to keep his teeth from chattering, there’s water pooling around his feet and he’s sure his hair looks completely ridiculous. He can feel the short strands plastered to his forehead. And, if he thought the sweater itched before, it’s almost unbearable now.

Sam doesn’t notice the lights are on when he finally steps inside. He takes his shoes off and hurries to the kitchen before he makes a mess of his floor, letting the door swing shut behind him. It’s probably the slam that warns Peter he’s back, because just as Sam is shaking his jacket off, the other man’s head pops out of the laundry room.

Sam freezes and he’s suddenly not ready to talk at all. He was expecting to have at least an hour to gather his thoughts and come up with the best way to apologize. He was expecting it to be easier to look at Peter’s face, but his eyes gaze away almost against his will.

“You’re back,” he says, hoping to God he sounds casual but knowing he couldn’t sound more choked up if a freaking _revolver_ was being held against his temple.

“Yeah, I was…washing stuff,” Peter replies. Sam turns his back to him, taking his jacket off completely and settling it on the counter. Peter is washing stuff. The sheets, the covers. Every bit of proof of what happened the night before.

“You don’t have to. I was going to do it tonight.” He cringes at his choice of words. What is he _saying_? 

There’s a long pause. Rain splatters against the windows like gunshots. After a few seconds of awkwardness, Peter finally speaks.

“The machine’s already on, Sam.” And he ducks away. 

Sam is left standing in the middle of his narrow kitchen, dripping wet. He wants to go to his room and change into dry clothes. He wants to kick the laundry room’s door down and yell at Peter how fucking _sorry_ he is. But all he does is stand there, shivering with cold.

The first time he remembers having felt this bad about something concerning Peter is two years ago, when he slept with his ex-boyfriend. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Peter wouldn’t have been in the next room. And if they hadn’t been broken up for less than an hour. But Sam had been drunk or high or something and the seriousness of what he’d done hadn’t sunk in until the morning after, when Peter had walked in on them.

It hadn’t been so hard to apologize then. And Sam had apologized at least a hundred times that day. Jay had been there, and he had lectured him and thrown him out with nothing but a pair of jeans on. For some reason, the had been at Jay’s.

This time, though, this time Sam really fucked up and he knows it. It’s one thing to mess around with an asshole ex-boyfriend that wasn’t good enough for Peter anyway, and another thing to do whatever he did last night

“Sam,” Peter calls and Sam twists around so fast he almost slips on the wet floor. “Come here a second.”

He nearly breaks his neck on his rush to enter the small room. There’s barely enough space to fit the washing machine and one person inside, so he knocks against Peter as he skids to a halt, making him bump against the rumbling machine.

“Sorry,” Sam hurries to say.

“Take that thing off,” Peter mumbles, distracted as he picks up a towel that fell to the floor, and Sam freezes again. A part of his mind, the _sick_ one, jumps into attention instantly, nearly taking over the rest of him. But he knows Peter doesn’t mean anything, he’s just washing his clothes. And he’s still comfortable enough around Sam to let him strip in the same tiny room as him. He’s even still wearing Sam’s sweatshirt.    
  
He bumps his elbow on a shelf as he struggles to take the heavy cloth off and it isn’t until he’s standing bare-chested in front of Peter that he realizes that maybe the man just wanted his sweater back. Sam hands it over but Peter doesn’t take it, just brings the towel up and drapes it over Sam’s head.

Before Sam can process what’s going on, his head is pressing against Peter’s chest while Peter, without uttering a word, rubs the towel on his hair furiously. The sweater falls in a soaking heap to the floor, making a wet sound that’s covered by the washing machine’s rumbling and Sam’s heart hammering in his ears. His hands go to Peter’s waist for support, but he doesn’t dare touch him, so he just clings to the sweatshirt.

“Where did you go like this? Couldn’t you put a shirt underneath that thing?” Peter mutters, sounding like he’s talking to himself, and Sam can’t bring himself to answer. He swears he can feel the heat of Peter’s body in his hands, even if he’s not really touching him.

Gradually, Peter’s rubbing on his hair slows and then it’s just his thumbs moving back and forth over the towel. Sam can feel the man breathing, his chest going up and down steadily, and then Peter’s chin is resting on top of his head. It’s almost as if he’s embracing him and Sam has to fight the urge to put his own arms around the other man’s torso.

“Sam,” Peter begins, sounding unbelievably close and feeling unbearably warm. “I’m so sorry.”

Sam doesn’t register the words at first. He’s drunk on Peter’s scent, on the intimate sound of his voice. It takes a second too long for it to sink in, and when it does, Peter is already talking again.

“You can’t believe how fucking sorry I am. I didn’t…I didn’t plan any of it, I swear, Sam. It just–” He clears his throat. “It seemed, and I know this sounds awful, but it seemed like a good idea last night. It’s not like I intended to get you drunk and I tried to stop myself but you–”

Peters keeps talking, his voice growing more panicked and his chin is starting to dig more sharply into Sam’s head. But Sam doesn’t care, he’s wondering what Peter is talking about and how he’s managed to steal all his words before he could say them himself.

“–and I wanted it so bad, I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Sam is only _slightly_ ashamed at how fast his body reacts to that last sentence. Suddenly, he’s not worried about touching Peter and his hands grip at his waist roughly. Without looking up, he slides his face up until he’s speaking into the man’s neck through clenched teeth, his mind clouded and his voice low.

“What are you talking about, Pete?”

He feels Peter shudder against him and his hands push the towel away from his head on their way to Sam’s shoulders.

“About last night,” Peter whispers.

“What about last night? I’m the one that let you drink too much.”

Sam feels Peter shake his head and he moves his face upwards again, until their cheeks are pressed together. His lecherous self is taking over, he knows it. There’s only a small part of him still worried about last night now, but that part is still fighting. The length of Peter’s body is aligned with his, his legs between Sam’s and the rumbling washing machine their support. Sam tries to focus on the words instead of on the way the machine makes them jerk against each other.

“Don’t you remember anything?” Peter asks into his ear.

“No,” Sam replies. “Nothing after the sixth drink.”   

Peter pushes him back, holding him at arm’s length by his shoulder and his eyes look very blue and very wide. His neck is flushed and Sam wants to press his mouth there again. Right now. But he has to concentrate and listen, because Peter is serious.

“You don’t remember _anything_?” Peter asks again. Sam frowns, a bit of himself coming back.

“You do? You drank a lot more than me.”

“I only had two,” Peter says quietly, looking away. “I just made them last.”

“What?” Sam is sure Peter had more than two drinks. All the bottles and glasses in his room that morning, they couldn’t all be Sam’s. And Peter had acted so _drunk_. Laughing and goofing around, lashing out so easily. It couldn’t have been an act, but then again, this was Peter and, no matter what his looks might imply, he wasn’t exactly an angel.

“It’s not like I planned to…to _molest_ you while you were wasted or anything,” Peter went on, staring right into Sam’s eyes. “But when you started stripping…I’m not made of stone, you know.”

“Wait, when I _what_?”

“You weren’t stripping _per se,_ you just started loosing clothes for no reason. And when I told you to stop, you went insane,” Peter laughs a little before frowning again. “And I didn’t make you drink on purpose, either. You started gulping them down so fast I had to keep sober in case you went into a fucking coma or something.”

“You were sober?” Is all Sam thinks to ask, even though he’s really wondering why the hell he decided to start stripping and why it had affected Peter so much. They’ve seen each other naked hundreds of times.

“You couldn’t expect me to just sit there while you paraded yourself all over your room in your underwear, could you? You know me,” Peter says and his hands trail down Sam’s arms and then up again, his eyes going to his bare chest for a moment. Sam can feel his stare like a touch, almost, and it’s quickly getting hotter in the small room.

“Paraded…?” He asks, at a loss of anything else to say.

“Well, not paraded, but something close to it. It would’ve been funny if I wasn’t having such a hard time keeping my hands to myself.”

_This is definitely not happening_ , Sam thinks. Since when has Peter had any trouble staying away from him?  It’s not supposed to be like this. Sam is the one that’s supposed to have been suffering all this time. He’s the one that took advantage of Peter, not the other way around. Though it doesn’t count as taking advantage if he’s been practically gagging for it for years, but still.

Sam’s hands are shaking slightly, and he clutches at Peter’s waist hard to make them stop. He looks back down at his neck, where the bruise is still marking his skin, half hidden by the sweatshirt. Would it be completely inappropriate if he bit him right now?

“Sam,” Peter says and Sam is forced to tear his eyes away and stare back at the man’s face. He watches him lick his lips and open his mouth to speak. He never finds out what he is going to say, since it’s then when he breaks and, putting his arms behind Peter’s back, he pulls him in and kisses him.

Peter doesn’t waste any time and kisses him back, his tongue sneaking its way into Sam’s mouth as soon as he opens it. They stumble against the washing machine, the vibrations making them both groan. 

It’s not exactly pretty, with the way their tongues are sliding in and out of each other’s mouths, wet and eager, but is not like there’s an audience. And it’s not like either of them care what they look like at the moment.

Peter forces Sam’s arms away from him and pins his hands on the machine, breaking away only for a moment to breathe properly. He’s growing hard against Sam’s leg, pressing a little more every passing second. And it is then, so close and hot and light-headed, that something in Sam’s head clicks and he backs away a little so he can talk.

Peter kisses his cheek instead, and then trails down to his jaw as Sam struggles to find the words.

“W-what happened last night?” He asks. It’s all he can articulate. What he’s really wondering, though, is why had Peter said he’d taken advantage of Sam if Sam was _sure_ it had been the other way around. Peter kisses just below his ear and laughs a puffy laugh that sends a shiver down Sam’s legs.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” He asks and then Sam finds himself with a mouthful of Peter’s hair.

He breathes in as he feels a tug on his fly button, and buries his nose in the short strands, fingers twitching and jerking along with the washing machine.

“I’ll show you,” Peter mutters in a heavy tone, out of breath and frantic, still tugging at Sam’s pants. When the button finally pops free, Peter’s mouth is back on Sam, lips pressing against his jaw as one finger slips into the waistband of his briefs. “You weren’t wearing much more than your shirt by then, though.”

The finger slips away and Peter releases Sam’s wrist to finish undoing his fly with both hands. They both let out a relieved breath when he’s done, Sam feeling the pressure on his groin easing a little. The pants drop to the floor and pool around Sam’s ankles, a chill hitting his legs. Peter puts his forehead on his shoulder, looking down.

“That’s more like it,” he mumbles.

He runs a hand along Sam’s length, his underwear very much in the way, and Sam shudders and groans. He brings his head down and sucks on what little skin he can find in front of him, which turns out to be the bruised spot. Peter jumps slightly.

His fingers go into the waistband again, this time pulling the fabric away from Sam’s belly and then down, until he can slip his whole hand inside.

It’s Sam’s arms that are holding him upright, his legs have long given out, and the machine is still roaring and trembling, his hands gripping at the edge. When Peter grabs him, his hips buckle and his elbows go out a little. Peter puts an arm around his back and presses his crotch against his leg.

“Easy there,” he says, breathes, and Sam kisses his neck and licks his way back to Peter’s lips.

He pulls at his flesh slowly, too slowly, and Sam kisses him, his whole body urging him to pick up the pace.

Peter falls to his knees without warning, taking down Sam’s underwear on the way. He settles himself between Sam’s unsteady legs and rubs his hands on the bare thighs in front of him, making Sam twitch. When he looks up, his previously innocent eyes are so dark Sam barely sees any blue in them. He watches him lick his lips, and imitates the gesture, impatient, his breath shuddery.

It is right when Peter touches him, a light kiss on the inside of his upper thigh, that the machine finally decides to stop. The room is suddenly filled with their panting and when Sam swallows, the gulp can be heard over the sound of the rain still splattering against the windows. Peter kisses him again, this time on a different leg and Sam braces himself.

“You were laying down for this part,” Peter says into his lower stomach. “And you weren’t very coherent.” His hands go to Sam’s hips and clench hard, then his mouth opens and Sam sees white. As warmth and wet envelopes him, Peter pushes him back to keep his shuddering from choking him. His arms nearly give, but Sam catches himself in time and lets out a low groan.

There is something about Peter’s mouth – his molded lips, his wide grin – that told Sam long ago he would be good at this. He had never taken his tongue into consideration until now. Now that the machine is silent, his moans echo in the tiny room as more and more pressure gathers in his groin. 

With a flashing moment of clarity, he realizes that he is completely naked in his laundry room, while Peter is fully clothed and on his knees in front of him. He realizes he still hasn’t let go of the washing machine, when he should be burying his fingers in Peter’s hair, getting all that he can from this, because he doesn’t know if it’s a one-time thing or not. He doesn’t know, and that’s why he peels his hands from the machine and grabs Peter’s head in his hands, pulling him away.

Peter doesn’t have time to ask what he’s doing before Sam drops in front of him and kisses him, his hands going to the hem of the sweatshirt and tugging it off. Peter lifts his arms up and lets him. Sam doesn’t stop kissing him as he crawls on top of him, forcing the man to lean back, half their bodies ending up in the kitchen floor. He fumbles with Peter’s fly, his mind a foggy mess, and Peter lifts up so he can drag the jeans off.

“ _Sam_ ,” Peter whispers when Sam can finally touch him, a long stroke that has them both panting for breath, followed by another and another until Peter is writhing underneath him, back against the cold tiled floor. “Come _on_.”

Peter doesn’t need to tell him twice.

He makes sure he’s not going to hurt him, thoroughly. He doesn’t stop until he’s sure everything’s in order, that whatever he feared that morning doesn’t come true. And then Peter is pulling him in, fed up and demanding, and Sam is letting him, breathless.

They move together with their eyes closed and foreheads pressed together, Peter’s legs around Sam’s body. Sam holds himself up propped on his elbows, arms on either side of Peter’s head. He’s done for when he dares to open his eyes. It’s Peter’s face that brings him to the edge and the quiet grunts calling his name that push him off it. Peter follows closely behind, and they are both left entwined in a boneless heap, bare limbs damp and exhausted.

It’s then when Sam wants to tell him. Tell him that this isn’t just him being horny, it’s not only years of pent up arousal. It’s more, he _wants_ it to be more, but Jay’s voice is loud in his head, ordering him not to say anything.

So Sam doesn’t, and instead just tries to catch his breath.

\--

Sam has to admit that at least he’s grateful that Jay didn’t come in fifteen minutes ago, when him and Peter were still sweaty and sticky. Though catching them as they’re coming out of the shower together, naked and wet, is not _that_ much better.

“What…the fuck?” He says around a cigarette, his copy of the apartment key (that Sam is already regretting ever giving him) still between his fingers. Sam freezes just outside the bathroom and Peter bumps into his back.

“Um.” Sam’s eyes flicker to his clothes, just out of reach and thrown over his bed, and then back at Jay. “I can explain?”

“You’re fucking dead,” Jay mutters, his face darkening. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and crushes it in his palm, actually _crushes_ it, without even flinching. 

“Wait, I didn’t–”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t fuck him?” Jay steps closer, jerking his jacket off and throwing it to the floor along with the remains of the cigarette. “I’m a fucking idiot for actually feeling bad for you, you asshole.”

“What the hell is going on?” Peter asks from behind Sam, sounding panicked.

“But I didn’t tell him anything!” Sam cries and stumbles back into the bathroom, pushing Peter into it as well.

“Whoa, wait,” he says when he slips on the wet tiles and grabs at Sam’s arm to keep from falling. “Didn’t tell me what?”

“Nothing,” Jay snaps. “Come out here, Sam. I don’t want to punch your face in where you can crack your skull open.”

“Why do you want to punch his face in?” Peter asks, looking over Sam’s shoulder.

“It’s between Sam and me,” Jay’s voice, even strained as it is, softens when he talks to Peter, when he looks at him.

A flash of jealousy hits Sam straight in the chest. He knows Jay is not interested in Peter and never will be. He knows he’ll never really be interested in any man, and it’s not the possibility of that ever happening that causes Sam to tense up in sudden anger. It’s that, as fucked up as it sounds even in his head, Jay never looks at him like that. What happened between Sam and Peter earlier took both of them, he’s not the only one Jay should be glaring at. He’s not the only one that should have his nose smashed. Neither of them should, but if someone _has_ to, then it’s the two of them. Not just Sam.

“He’s not a little kid,” Sam says, realizing that it isn’t the smartest choice of words when he sees Jay tense up more. He wants to kick himself. “He can take care of himself. I didn’t force him to do anything.” 

“What about last night then?” Jay takes another step towards them and Sam grabs at the door, ready to close it in his face. Jay stops.

“That’s all cleared up,” Sam explains. He tries to mirror Jay’s glare, but he knows he can’t pull it off. “It was all a mistake.”

Jay’s expression turns surprised, his stance relaxes a little, “So nothing happened?” He asks. Sam tells himself he’s imagining the small, hopeful tone of his voice.

“Something did,” he replies, averting his eyes. “Just not _exactly_ what I thought.”

In a second, Jay looks irate again. He starts to walk but stops himself when Sam threatens to close the door once more. Peter is pressing against his back, his breath in his ear, but Sam’s attention is focused on the man in front of him. He doesn’t get him; he doesn’t understand why he’s so angry. Why does he care, if Sam would never hurt Peter on purpose, ever?

“Jay, it’s okay,” Peter says. “What’s wrong with you?”

But Jay isn’t listening to him, he’s fuming, his eyes locked on Sam. He looks like he wants to kill him. With a huff, he pushes his damp, dark hair back as his other hand goes to his chest, looking for a pocket that isn’t there.

“Look, just let us get our clothes on and we can…talk or something,” Peter goes on, but seems to realize Jay is paying no mind to him. He’s picking up his jacket, rummaging through the pockets and, when he finally finds the crumpled pack, putting a new cigarette between his lips. Jay can light a cigarette faster than anyone Sam knows, but this time he fumbles with the lighter for a moment, his hands unsteady.

When he’s done, he exhales a long string of smoke through his nose and then looks back up at the two naked men cowering in the bathroom. Jay’s eyes are practically black, the same shade as his hair, and more unsettling than Peter’s light ones, if that’s even possible. Sam feels his skin crawl when Jay stares at him, only at him, with that nasty glare. 

“Jay, I’m going to put my pants on, okay?” Peter says and steps around Sam, “They’re there, just behind you.”

Jay takes the cigarette away from his mouth and holds it with his middle and index finger at his side, his arm dangling limply. He doesn’t answer Peter, so the man just walks over and starts putting his clothes on.

Sam is stuck in the bathroom, pinned only by Jay’s eyes. He’s starting to feel guilty – a feeling that had vanished the moment Peter explained what had happened the night before – and he isn’t even sure why. He didn’t do anything Jay told him not to. He didn’t tell Peter he loved him, he really did come here only to talk. But Jay will never see that, not when wide-eyed Peter is around to look innocent and…violated or something. Whatever Jay sees when he looks at Peter.

Again that sting of jealousy right in the middle of Sam’s chest.

“Look-” Jay starts and Sam cuts him off.

“It’s none of your business, Jay,” he says, the anger slipping into his tone. “Do us all a favor and fuck off, he didn’t ask for your help.” 

Once again, he regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, as soon as he catches Jay’s look of surprise and hurt. The glare is back before Sam can blink.

“You’re right,” he says. “It’s none of my fucking business. You’re just a couple of sluts in heat. Have fun while it lasts, just don’t come crying to me when it all crashes to the ground.” 

“Ouch, Jay, what the fuck?” Peter mumbles from near the bed.

Sam is speechless. Jay actually included Peter in that comment, and that’s more surprising than the words themselves. He can’t think of anything to say before Jay turns around and leaves the room. A moment later he hears the front door slam shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Jay left his key on the side table by the front door. Sam finds it after finally putting his clothes back on and coming out of the bedroom. He stares at it, an ugly sinking feeling settling in his gut.

How could he say that to Jay? Jay, who was always there for him, for him and for Peter, who got them out of trouble more times than they could count. He feels horribly guilty remebering his friend’s face crumbling. The way he couldn’t even light his cigarette properly because his hands were trembling with restrained emotion.

“Care to fill me in?” Peter says from behind him, and Sam starts. He takes a breath and turns around to face him.

“It’s…it’s nothing. I fucked up again,” he replies. Peter’s pretty eyes narrow.

“I got that. But what was that about not telling me something?”

Sam scrambles in his head for a lie, a little one that can get him out of having to answer to that. Because answering would mean telling Peter something that he isn’t supposed to. It’s weird, but even though he was desperate for saying the words a little while ago, he feels like thay’re burried very deep down in him now. Jay kicked them there with his glare and his threats and yet Sam doesn’t resent him for it. He knows Jay has a reason for reacting the way he did, he’s sure of it. And whatever the reason is, he knows it’s the best for Peter, otherwise it wouldn’t have mattered to him so much.

This time, the pang of jealousy is dampened by how awful Sam feels, but it’s still there, a dull ache in the middle of his chest.

“We didn’t mean you, we were talking about someone else,” he says.

“Really. Who?”

“Fred, from, uh, his office.” Sam never takes his eyes away from Peter’s. He knows that if he allows them to gaze away, Peter will know he’s lying through his teeth.

“And what is it that you didn’t tell Fred from, uh, his office?” Peter mocks him, walking further into the hall and standing very close.

“He thinks I told him…about the time he made out with that guy. At that club.” Sam swallows as Peter runs a hand down his arm, and focuses all his energy on _not_ looking away.

“Which time?” Peter asks and laughs a little, looking down as his fingers starting to trail the front of Sam’s shirt.

“Any time. He doesn’t want Fred to know because…because Fred is supposed to set him up with this girl.” Sam doesn’t know where the hell all this is coming from, and he’s proud of himself for keeping his voice steady. 

“And how do you know this _Fred_?”

“He comes along sometimes when Jay and I have lunch together.”

“Huh. And what was that about you…fucking someone? Did you fuck Fred before coming back home today?” Peter’s arms go around his shoulders and he comes so close Sam has to cross his eyes a bit to keep looking into his face.

“No, he meant you. He’s angry that I fucked you and that…he thinks I told Fred that.”

“And who’s _he_ to be angry about you fucking me?” Peter is still teasing, but Sam feels himself tense anyway.

Peter was always a little amused and a little annoyed at Jay’s protective attitude. He would never admit that Jay really did get him out of a lot of ugly situations over the years, claiming that he would have found a way out himself eventually. But Sam knows, he _knows_ that if it weren’t for Jay both of them could be anywhere right now. Sam wouldn’t have his apartment, and he would probably never have finished college. Peter could be dead. He knows they owe Jay a lot and he can’t believe Jay is back in his office right now, slouching over his computer as he chews furiously on some gum because he’s not allowed to smoke inside, hating Sam.

Peter kisses the corner of his mouth and his mind snaps back to now, to _here_. This is where he has wanted to be for years, right in these arms, right under those lips. And yet Jay’s unhappy face lingers in the corner of his thoughts, not letting him lose himself in Peter like he wants to, not letting his arousal cloud his mind completely.

“Yeah,” he says in a shaky murmur, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what’s up with him.”

Peter pulls aways. “I’m gonna call him,” he says.

“What? No, not right now. He’s pissed now,” Sam splutters, tightening his grip around the other man, keeping him where he is. If he calls Jay, he’s going to find out Sam was lying before. Or Jay could say something hurtful to him. Or he could act kind and ask for forgiveness for calling him a slut. And that would be the worst thing he could do, because what about Sam? He’s the one who’s worried and he’s the one Jay threatened to beat up. Sam is the one that made Jay look so sad, and he is the one that should say he’s sorry.

Of course, Peter doesn’t listen. When does he ever? He pulls away from Sam and grabs the phone, dialing with a frown, like he has to think really hard to remember the number. And he probably has to. Jay and Sam are the ones usually calling. Peter is always around to agree to any plans they make, or to stretch on the couch and talk for a couple of hours while Sam listens to his cheerful voice from his bedroom and feels sorry for himself.

As Peter presses the phone to his ear, Sam leans onto the small side table. His hands seek blindly for the key abandoned there, and when his fingers find the cold metal, he grasps at it and prays for Jay not to pick up.

“No, it’s me,” Peter says. “Is Fred really setting you up with a girl?”

Sam clutches the key in his hand so hard he can feel it cutting into the skin of his palm. Peter’s eyes wander to him and then away, not a trace of accusation in them.

“Sam would never tell on you,” he says. “And why would you freak out about us….” He trails off, listening to whatever Jay is telling him from the other side of the line.

Sam would give anything right now to know what he’s saying.

“Yeah, no, it’s okay,” Peter mutters. “D’you want to talk to him?”

Sam stands up, stepping towards Peter with a hand held out. But Peter shakes his head.

“Okay, whatever. This is stupid.” A pause and then, “Bye.”

He puts the phone back on the cradle as Sam lowers his hand, his stomach turning a little.

“He had to go into a meeting or something,” Peter says. Sam is sure he’s lying. “I’m sure he’ll call tonight. No later than tomorrow.”

Not three hours ago, he was sure his friendship with Peter was ruined forever and he had gone to Jay for help. Now here they are, Peter and him standing in his apartment after showering together and Jay finished with him. Fed up. 

“He’s such a drama queen,” Peter goes on, walking towards Sam again and putting his arms back on his shoulders. “Don’t worry about him, he’ll get over it.”

Sam nods, his throat tight, and hides the key in his pocket. He’s not so sure Jay will get over it any time soon, but he forces himself to forget about it for now. He focuses on Peter, on _now_ , and decides to worry about everything else later.

The key burns against his leg for the rest of the day.

\--

A few years earlier, on Sam’s twenty-first birthday, him and his two closest friends, Jay and Peter, went out to a couple of bars to celebrate. To this day, Sam can only recall the first place they visited, and that’s if he tries really hard. He doesn’t even remember how he could afford everything they drank that night, since he’s pretty sure he was broke then. Either way, after that first round, his mind is a blur of lights and laughter, and then he remembers waking up in Jay’s dorm room, lying on the floor with half his body under the bed. His head felt heavy and his mouth full of cotton. He crawled to a sitting position, wishing not to be sick on Jay’s carpet and wondering why he wasn’t wearing a shirt and why his leg hair was dyed green and blue and pink.

It was afternoon already, and he was alone in the bright room. His head was slowly starting to throb, and he wanted to curl into a ball and sleep the hangover off for a couple of days. It was with great effort that he climbed onto Jay’s neatly made bed, and was passed out before he hit the pillow.

It was night out when he awoke again. There was someone in the room with him, Sam could hear whoever it was breathing. He turned his head slowly, his neck stiff with cold, and squinted in the dim light, forcing his vision to focus.

Jay was sitting on his desk chair, smoking a cigarette with a thick winter coat on. His shoulders were dripping water and his hair had small snowflakes tangled in it. His nose and eyes and cheekbones were red and he was staring at Sam.

Sitting up with a grunt, Sam tried to say something, but only managed an awkward croak that made his dry throat hurt.

“There,” Jay said in a quiet voice, and pointed his cigarette at a glass of water sitting on the bedside table.

Sam gulped it down in one long swallow. His head screamed, pain exploding behind his eyes and in the middle of his forehead as the freezing water came in contact with his tongue. He set the glass down and closed his eyes until it passed.

“You okay?” Jay asked and took a drag out of his cigarette, his face momentarily alight with orange splashing over it. It was chilly in the room, and Sam noticed his friend had opened the window a crack to let the smoke out. He also noticed a small collection of cigarette butts on an ashtray over the desk, and wondered for how long Jay had sat there to smoke and stare at him.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Did we have a good time yesterday?”

Jay took a second too long to answer, and when he did, his voice was hard and clipped.

“If you consider puking your guts out in the middle of the street fun, then yeah, you had fun,” he said. “Now picture that for every two blocks, hanging off my arm as you dragged me to joint after joint. I’d say you had a ball.”

“Lay off, Jay. It was my fucking birthday. You didn’t have to go along – I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Don’t be so fucking sure,” Jay snapped.

“What’s the worse that could’ve happened?” Sam asked. He knew he was walking on thin ice, Jay was no pushover and he would gladly throw him out, hung-over or not, if he pissed him off. “So I wake up in some freak’s place, I take a cab back here and that’s that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam, so shut up before I fucking deck you.” Jay crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. Sam knew he meant what he’d say, so he kept quiet for a moment.

Back then, Jay’s hair was kept short on the sides and back and longer on the top of his head, falling over his face constantly. Sam thought the style made him look mean, what with his scary dark eyes and almost permanent scowl. Sam still kept his own hair long then, a tangle of heavy brown strands that he usually held back with a hair band. When loose, like it was at that moment, it would tumble onto his shoulders and somehow always find its way into his mouth. 

“How’d we get here?” Sam asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“Walking,” Jay sighed. “We walked.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Not really.” Jay looked worn out. As his eyes adjusted, Sam could see how pale he really was under the flush inflicted by the cold. And a second later, he realized he was taking up Jay’s bed and had been there all day.

“I’ll go, you sleep for a while. I’m sorry about yesterday and everything,” Sam mumbled, his tongue numb and his thoughts still a little scattered. He started to get up, out of the bed, when Jay stopped him.

“No, stay,” he said, half standing and then dropping back onto the chair. “I’m fine here, just stay and sleep a while longer. I’m sorry I said I’d hit you.”

Back then, Jay was quicker to apologize, started to regret his words sooner. And Sam was still stubborn enough to think he really deserved the apologies.

“It’s okay,” he replied and stood on the cold floor. He put his arms around himself and tried to look for his shirt or jacket or whatever he had been wearing before. “I’ll go. Do you know whose shorts these are?” 

“No idea,” Jay mumbled and took his coat off. “Put this on, I’ll see if I can find your clothes later.” 

Sam left the room enveloped in puffy, warm fabric, “I’ll give it back tomorrow,” he said behind his shoulder as he stepped into the dimly lit hallway. Jay still sat on his chair, looking at him from the dark as he put a new cigarette to his mouth.

Sam closed the door and wandered to his room. It wasn’t long before he was standing by his door that he realized he didn’t know what had happened with Peter. The last he remembered of him they were playing some kind of drinking game: take a shot every time Jay, oblivious, sighed or huffed or acted annoyed with everything around him. No wonder he had ended up completely shit-faced. 

He turned on his heels, somehow managing not to stumble to the floor, and staggered back down the hall to Jay’s room. He could have gone downstairs to check Peter’s room but he had a bad feeling, his head was a mess and he couldn’t remember what had happened the night before for the life of him. He threw open the door and Jay sat up in bed, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He snatched it in his fingers before it fell on his lap.

“What the _fuck_?” He snapped, his eyes glimering.

“Where’s Peter?” Sam asked, standing at the threshold while clutching the doorknob in his hand. Jay sighed and dropped back onto his elbows. He stared at Sam for a moment before looking to the side.

“He spent the night at the hospital,” he said in a dark tone. Sam felt his stomach clench, a wave of dizziness making him lean against the door.

“…what?”

“He should be out tomorrow morning.” Illuminated by the light from the hallway, Sam could see how Jay stared at him out of the corner of his dark eyes. “We’ll pick him up at nine.”

“Wait, but what happened to him? I don’t remember….” He trailed off as he saw Jay whip his head around to glare at him. Slowly, the other man sat up again, swinging his legs to the floor.

“You don’t remember. How the hell do you expect to remember if you were almost as fucked up as him? _I don’t need a babysitter_ , you say. What’s the worse that could happen? Well, you could end up lying on the sidewalk and needing to have your fucking stomach pumped with no one there to call a fucking _ambulance_!”  

Sam’s head throbbed and Jay’s loud voice made his ears start hurting. His hands were damp and cold and his knees were growing weaker.

“What- They pumped his stomach?” He mumbled. “Where was I?”

Jay gave a dry laugh, almost like a bark, and pushed his hair away from his face. Sam saw a nasty bruise on his forehead that he was sure wasn’t there the night before.

“How the fuck should I know? Blowing someone in the restroom? Getting stoned? I couldn’t, I _can’t_ keep track of both of you when—”

“But you weren’t with either of us!” Sam snapped, knowing that he was being unfair but he was scared and angry and worried and he hated it when Jay acted like his fucking father.

“No, I was busy getting the shit kicked out of me by a guy _you_ pissed off.” Jay stood up, took a step towards Sam and then back to his desk to get his cigarettes. “This is…I can’t keep doing this. I thought he was going to fucking _die_ , no one was doing anything. What if I didn’t find him on time?”

Sam closed his eyes; he didn’t want to think of what would have happened then.

“And then I couldn’t ride with him in the ambulance because you’re missing and what if you were the same as him somewhere inside that shitty club and I was leaving you behind?” Jay rambled with a new cigarette around his lips as he patted his pockets for his lighter. Sam watched him and then slid down to sit on the floor. He was going to be sick any moment now.

“How’s he now?” He asked when he had calmed down a little.

“He’s fine,” Jay replied, looking at him from above. Sam clutched the puffy coat and held it tight around him; Jay’s room was still freezing. “He’ll probably want to go out again Friday, the stupid asshole.”

Sam peered up and caught a small, fond smile on Jay’s face that was gone the moment the cigarette was back in his mouth and his eyes back on Sam.

“I’ll never drink again, I promise,” he said, in his voice a whine. Jay snorted.

“Right, sure.”

Years later, the day after Jay storms out of his apartment, Sam still has the coat he lent him hanging in his closet. He stares at it while Peter lounges on the couch in his underwear and remembers the first time Jay saved them both from doing something truly stupid for the first of many, many times. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sam stands in front of his closet and yawns as he searches for something to wear for work. His eyes scan the different racks quickly; he knows what he’s looking for. Finally, almost hidden by the old puffy coat, he finds the grey pinstriped suit Jay got for him last year. It’s a good suit, better than any piece of clothing Sam can afford, and he has been saving it for a special occasion.

“That looks expensive,” Peter says from the bed and Sam turns to him with a small smile.

“Yeah, I bet it was.”

“It’s not fair, Jay never gets me nice stuff like that,” Peter whines as he stretches under the covers, his pale, naked torso arching upwards. Sam lets his gaze linger before meeting the man’s eyes.

“Maybe that’s because everything you own has toothpaste stains on it.” Sam puts the suit down on the back of a chair and uses the towel hanging around his shoulders to rub his short hair dry.

“Sure,” Peter mutters. “Toothpaste.” 

Sam laughs and throws the towel at him.

He usually eats lunch with Jay during the week, and he’s going to meet him today no matter what. They are going to talk and Sam is going to find out what the hell happened the other day and they are going to work things out. Maybe it’s because he finally shaved this morning, or perhaps it was all the sex he had during the weekend, but he feels oddly invigorated. Almost too optimistic. Especially for a Monday. 

“Man, I missed sleeping on a bed,” Peter sighs. “That couch was killing my back.”

“You just had to ask and the bed would’ve been yours,” Sam replies as he slips on his underwear. Peter doesn’t say anything back, and when Sam turns around again, he finds that he’s not even looking at him. He’s inspecting his nails instead, in a careless and slightly seductive pose that Sam can’t read and doesn’t really have the time to, anyway, unless he wants to be late. 

He finishes putting his clothes on knowing Peter’s eyes are nowhere near him, and feels strangely insecure and, he can’t help it, a little hurt. He chooses a deep red tie and fumbles with the old knot for a while before putting it around his neck and fastening it up in front of the closet full length mirror. He’s not comfortable wearing things around his neck, or high collared shirts like the one Jay got him with the suit, but he has to make an effort today, even if he’ll probably end up with some kind of drink all over himself. Or a lap full of cigarette ashes from the ashtray Jay might throw at him.

When Sam turns to pick up his shoes, Peter is sitting up on the bed, the sheets doing little work of covering him below the waist.

He doesn’t let himself get distracted. He just sits at the edge of the mattress and starts putting on his shoes.

“You look very sharp,” Peter says in a breathy voice from behind him. “I’ve always had a soft spot for men who look sharp in suits.”

Sam knows that, and it doesn’t lighten his mood to be reminded of Peter’s less than discreet love life. Anxiety is slowly starting to press down on him. He feels soft fingers trail his shoulders and down his back and leans into the touch without meaning to. He’s a man on a mission, and Peter’s hands are making him lose his momentum. His head needs to stay focused, he can’t let his libido get the better of him, and if he lets this happen he’ll be late for work and his suit will be ruined.

“Since when d’you wear suits for work, anyway?” Peter asks, his arms coming around Sam from behind and his fingers finding the tie and smoothing it against his chest.

“I have a meeting today,” Sam replies, only half-lying. He’s been doing that a lot in the last few days and every time it gets a little easier. Then again, he’s been lying to Peter for years now, and the way Sam sees it, this is all part of the same big old secret. One he’s been keeping since the first time the thought of Peter sleeping around made him feel a little _too_ angry.

“I shouldn’t keep you, then,” Peter mutters against the back of Sam’s neck, making his skin erupt into goose bumps, but doesn’t pull away. “I should go back to bed; I still have a couple hours to kill.”

Sam is a very weak man. He knows it and so does everyone else. Especially Peter. Even if he’s still determined to leave for work on time, Sam’s already doing math in his head, figuring what could get done before he absolutely has to be on the street. The thought of Jay’s livid face pushes him to lean down and start tying his shoes, but Peter goes down with him, snuggling naked against his back.

“It’s going to be lonely here, though,” he says in a tone that makes Sam pause a moment and regroup, because he’s starting to forget how important it is for him to leave. Right freaking now. “At least it’s warm. I don’t think it’ll ever stop raining outside.”

Sam swallows, feeling hot under the collar of his new shirt. He wants to loosen it a bit, get some air, but if he moves he knows his hands will go to Peter. He’s holding onto his shoelaces like a lifeline. The warmth from Peter’s body is making his back tingle, he’s sure the shirt is going to be plastered to his skin when he gets up. If he ever does, that is.

“I really need to leave,” he says, ashamed at how choked up his voice sounds. One would think after the last couple of days Sam would have grown some kind of immunity against this, he’s already seen and done almost all he’s wanted to for years. Peter shouldn’t still have this kind of power over him.

He gets up as soon as he feels the pressure on his back lighten a little, as if giving him permission. Making a show of straightening his tie, he wills his body to c _alm down_ , not daring to turn around until he hears rustling behind him even though he knows full well it’s a bad idea.

His stomach turns as every drop of blood in him rushes downwards, his heart suddenly very loud in his ears as he sees Peter lying against the pillows with his head on the headboard and the sheet discarded. He has one foot planted before him on the mattress, his knee up, as the other dangles from the side of the bed. One hand is playing with his hair as the other moves between his legs.

Sam swallows again, takes a step towards him and presses his knees against the edge of the bed, his mind completely clouded. He’s not thinking about wrinkles or being late or the uncomfortable tie he has to put up with. He’s thinking he wants to get his hands on Peter as soon as possible because he _can_ , even if there’s something nagging at the back of his mind, pulling him in the other direction.

“Weren’t you in a hurry?” Peter breathes, and Sam’s eyes snap away from his crotch and find his face. More specifically his full, beautiful mouth, now wet and inviting. He’s already climbing onto the bed when the hand on Peter’s hair shoots forward and stops inches away from Sam’s eyes. With the other one, he keeps on stroking himself.

“What?” Sam asks, confused and a little annoyed at having his vision blocked.  

“You were leaving,” Peter drawls and his hand goes back to his head. “You have…people to meet, remember?”

Sam’s eyes rake over Peter’s body. There are more important things in the word than sex, he knows, but right now he can’t remember any. He grabs Peter’s knee and moves it a little to the side.

“Don’t,” Peter commands, his voice not all that steady.

This is some kind of dirty revenge for not accepting Peter’s advances, Sam is sure, and he shouldn’t be falling for it so easily but there’s only so much he can take. Peter is looking at him when Sam lifts his eyes, his tongue peeking out between his lips. His cheeks are showing two patches of color, his brow is damp.

Sam is kneeling in front of him, holding his legs apart and just looking, something in Peter’s eyes telling him that he’ll get a kick in the face if he dares to lean in. So he stares as Peter finally comes, and nearly follows himself at the sounds he makes. They’re both breathing hard, flushed and silent. 

“You’re gonna be late. Jay’s going to be disappointed if you don’t show up,” Peter says after a moment, his voice scratchy. Sam snaps back to reality as if he’s been slapped in the face.

“What—?”

“Wasn’t he your very important meeting?”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes, no sound coming out. Peter wasn’t supposed to know about that. He wasn’t supposed to know how badly Jay’s anger at him had struck him (though apparently not badly enough that he couldn’t pass on watching Peter jerk off and leave early). He wasn’t supposed to find out Sam had lied to him, especially because he wasn’t even sure _why_ he had done it.

“I, yeah, no....”  

Peter rolls his eyes and sits up, not bothering to clean up or cover himself. Sam has to force his eyes to stay on the man’s face.

“Well, what the hell are you waiting for?”

“I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t want you…to worry about it,” Sam explains, lying again. Peter’s not one to worry about this kind of thing. In his opinion, once people cool off, things are okay again. He doesn’t understand the concept of holding a grudge or being hurt. Not by words, anyway. Jay called him a slut and he shrugged it off in a second. Then again, it wasn’t the first time someone had called Peter a slut, so maybe he’s just used to it.

“Worry about what?” Peter scoffs. “D’you really think Jay can stay mad for long? He’ll trip over his own feet trying to get you to forgive him.”

Sam opens his mouth to retort but closes it with a loud click, frowning. Peter seems to have things backwards. It is _Peter’s_ forgiveness Jay is going to end up asking for. Sam is the one that will have to beg to be forgiven. And not only can Jay stay mad for years, but Sam hurt him.  He can’t live with himself knowing that.

“And the whole thing is ridiculous anyway, you didn’t tell that Fred guy anything about Jay acting gayer than the two of us together in those clubs,” Peter sighs and Sam sits back, blinking. He had forgotten he had told Peter that. “And who the fuck does he think he is, going crazy because we fucked? Maybe I should go with you to lunch, give him a piece of—”

“No!” Sam snaps. “No, no, I, it’s better if I talk to him. Alone.”

Jay is mad because he thinks Sam told Peter he loves him after he had told him not to, for whatever reason. And Sam didn’t say anything, he knows Jay is protecting Peter from something, and Sam doesn’t want to hurt another friend.

Peter scowls at him.

“Is this about something else?” He asks and Sam’s stomach drops.

“No,” he says, but Peter still seems suspicious.

Sam averts his eyes and gets up. Sometime during their talk his erection wilted, thankfully. He walks back to the chair and picks up his suit jacket and a long, black coat from the closet. He stands in front of the bed after he puts everything on and holds his arm up at his sides.

“How do I look?”

Peter’s expression is still dark, but after a few seconds of staring, he smiles a little and drops his eyelids.

“Very sharp.”

\-- 

It had been a shock when, a year earlier, Sam had opened Jay’s Christmas gift and had found a rolled up tie inside a small box. It had white lines going from one end to the other, so close together that the fabric looked light blue. Sam had looked up to find Jay, but he was talking to Peter, both hunched over whatever was in Peter’s hands.

Sam looked down at his gift and frowned, slightly disappointed. Didn’t Jay know him at all? He didn’t wear suits. He didn’t even own one, or at least not one he hadn’t used for his high school graduation. He leaned back on the couch and waited.

This was in Sam’s old two-bedroom apartment so Mike, his soon to be ex-roommate was there, too. He was laughing at Peter’s gift and Sam felt a little left out. He got up and poured himself another glass of cheap cider. He wondered what was so funny about Peter’s gift; it surely wasn’t a _tie_ since there was nothing funny about them. Jay had probably gotten Peter something nice, something he’d really wanted. Jay had probably left Sam’s gift for the end, when his budget was already tight and all he could afford was a shitty tie.

And Sam was probably a little drunk already, which was making him moodier than normal. The sight of the three men sitting in the living room, having fun without him was making him angrier and angrier by the second.

“Come look at this, Sam,” Peter called, looking up at him. His smile was wide and his face was flushed, and Sam ignored the stirring inside him and walked over in silence. He stood over the small group and stared down at the box in his friend’s hands.

“What the hell is that?” He asked and all three of them burst out laughing.

“I think it’s very flattering, that’s what it is,” Peter said between snickers as he held up a pair of grey briefs. There was a face drawn on them and a long, well, elephant’s trunk coming out of the front. “Maybe I’ll wear it next time we go out, think it’ll show through my jeans? ‘cause I totally want them to show.”

“Is…this for real?” Sam asked, not sure whether to laugh or not. His gift had seemed so serious, but maybe it was meant to be a prank, too. He looked at Jay and found him laughing, his eyes bright and his face red. It wasn’t every day that he got to see him so at ease and the feeling was apparently contagious, because Sam laughed too.

“I can’t even picture Jay going into the store where they’d sell this,” Peter said a moment later, when they had all calmed down.

“It was pretty embarrassing,” Jay replied and then turned to Sam, who was back at the couch, the now empty glass in his hand. “Did you like yours?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” he mumbled. He still wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh about it or not.

“It’s only the first part of your gift,” Jay explained. “Since I missed your birthday this year I kinda went all out.”

“What’d you get?” Mike asked, sounding drunker than the rest of them. Sam held up the tie, and both Peter and Mike frowned, turning to Jay for an explanation.

“It’s in the bedroom,” Jay said and the four men scrambled to their feet and kind of stumbled towards Sam’s room.

The suit was on his bed, inside a large, flat box. Sam knew next to nothing about fabrics, but this one was smooth and soft to the touch. He pressed the tip of his finger against it, afraid of picking it up and stain it beyond repair with his sticky hands.

“This is too much, Jay,” he said after a moment. “I don’t even-”

“You’ll have to wear one eventually,” Jay cut him off.

“But—”

“Just accept it and shut up, Sam. It’s only a fucking suit.”

Jay’s voice was hard and his tone exasperated. He was looking away from Sam, towards the bedroom door as he sipped on a bottle of beer, and Sam guessed he was embarrassed for some reason.

“Thanks, Jay.”

After that, Peter got drunk and passed out on Sam’s couch wearing his gift over his pants. Jay stayed until Peter was unconscious and then left, not really looking at Sam as he said goodbye. Mike went into Sam’s room an hour later and they had sex, because Sam was in a good mood and, as usual, tipsy enough not to care about consequences.  

\--

Sam works as a programmer at a small gaming company and he’s never even once worn a suit to the office. The teases start as soon as he’s inside, the first being from the receptionist, who gives him an incredulous smile and asks him who he is trying to win over.

His workmates spend the entire morning asking him if he’s trying to kiss their boss’ ass to get a raise or just, you know, to kiss his ass, get it, get it? Sam flips them off, torn between being amused and annoyed. He’s still upset because he didn’t get off earlier, and the memory of Peter sprawled on his bed is making his dick twitch at the most inopportune moments.

He’s not late. He’s just in time to finish everything he has to do and go out to lunch in time to catch Jay as he’s coming out of his office. The morning drags by impossibly slow, Sam’s eyes dart towards his watch every few minutes. At around eleven, his boss, Richard, walks by his desk and does a double take when he sees him. Sam gives him a charming smile; Richard is pretty fit for a guy on the wrong side of forty.

“What’s this?” Richard asks, his eyebrows up.

“What?”

“Aren’t you the guy who wore a kids cartoon t-shirt for a staff meeting two weeks ago?”

“I think Penelope Glamour was fancy enough for the both of us,” Sam says, smiling wider. Richard laughs and raps his knuckles against Sam’s desk twice.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re cleaning up,” he says and continues down the other end of the room towards his office.

Someone behind him starts doing kissy noises and Sam flips them off over his shoulder. There’s nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting, it’s not like he expects anything’s going to happen. No matter how many unethical things he’s done in the past, going after a married man with a kid on the way is not going to be another one.

Finally, its one o’clock and Sam all but jumps out of his chair. He throws his coat on and rushes to the elevator, his stomach doing flip-flops. He checks his reflection in the elevator mirror and thinks, just for a second, about how pathetic he must look. Here he is, killing himself just to say he’s sorry. Again. Wearing a _suit_ , a suit to meet one of his best friends. Like he needs to impress him or something. Jay is probably not even going to care what he’s wearing. He might not even look at him.

When the doors slide open, Sam shakes those thoughts out of his head and walks outside. It’s pouring out, and he doesn’t have an umbrella. Steeling himself, he runs two streets down, trying to walk close to the walls and under the canopies, but still once he’s across the street from Jay’s office, he’s drenched.

He blinks the water out of his eyes, his hands deep in his coat pockets, his shoulders shaking. Just as his vision clears, he sees Jay walking out of his building alone. Sam falters, doubts himself for a moment. Maybe he’s taking this too seriously. Everybody fights once in a while.

He runs across the street.

“Jay,” Sam says when he’s almost walking beside him. Jay turns around sharply. He’s dry – he remembered to bring an umbrella. There’s an unlit cigarette between his lips. His expression turns from surprised to angry and he snatches the cigarette away from his mouth.

“What?” He snaps.

“Can we…I’m sorry about the other day. Jay, can we sit down and talk. Please?”      

“Do you even know _why_ you’re apologizing?” Jay asks.

Sam blinks, feeling like he’s missing something. Of course he knows why he’s apologizing: he was an ass to Jay, who has always been there for him, and he’s sorry.

“Do you even know why I’m angry in the first place?” The other man asks as his eyes trail down Sam’s body with a frown. Is the suit going to be ruined because of the water? Oh, shit, he hopes not.

“Because I- With Peter,” Sam replies. “It’s all a misunderstanding. I can explain if you let me buy you lunch.”

Jay sighs, scowling up at the grey sky.

“Fine,” he grumbles. Sam smiles a little and falls into step beside him.


	5. Chapter 5

They go to their usual place, the same where Sam met Jay to tell him he had taken advantage of Peter a few days back, because it's the only restaurant around that still has a smoking area inside. On their way, Jay holds his umbrella a little to the side, and Sam quickly ducks under it. There's still an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and Sam has the feeling Jay has forgotten about it.

The suit feels heavy on Sam, plastered to his skin. His shoes squeak as he walks, and he looks down at himself and hopes the damage isn't irreparable. The fabric looks dark, feels cold against him. Jay's sleeve is getting wet for having their arms pressed together to fit under the umbrella and Sam has only a moment to think that's somehow a good sign before the man is pulling away.

They go inside the restaurant and Jay leaves the umbrella in a rack by the door. Sam follows him to the back, dragging his feet and feeling bad about messing up the floor with all the dripping he's doing. Then he's sitting across from an angry-looking Jay, and he feels pathetic. Hunched over in his seat, Sam sniffs while suppressing unpleasant chills going up and down his spine, he's never felt so fucking low in his life.

"Jay," he begins but has no idea how to follow. This isn't just about having snapped at him, this is about dismissing his friend like it was nothing when he didn't deserve it. It's about putting his need to get laid before everything else, about knowing how different Jay treats him from Peter and not being able to stand it.

The silence goes on for too long, and when Sam looks up, Jay is glaring at him, his patience clearly running thin.

"I'm-"

"If you say you're sorry again I'm going to stab you in the head with a fork, I swear," Jay cuts him off, bristling, and Sam believes him and clamps his mouth shut. Jay sighs and reaches into his pocket for his lighter. Sam notices he's quick in lighting the cigarette; every trace of the unsteadiness of that day in his apartment is gone.

Sam slumps just a little more in his seat and tries to wipe his face dry.

"Listen," Jay starts. "I just, I'm not _mad_ at you, okay? I'm just fucking tired of this."

Sam opens his mouth to ask _tired_ _of what_ , when a waiter appears next to him and sends him a look that clearly says he's the one that's going to have to mop the floor when they're gone. Jay quietly orders something for both of them while Sam stares at the ashtray on their table and thinks about his next words carefully. But he can't get past the fact that this isn't just about Jay sulking, he has the feeling this is bigger and he's too wrung out and too damn _wet_ to deal with it with tact.

"Tired of what?" He asks when they're alone again and then watches the string of smoke coming out from between Jay's lips. He watches the hard lines and angles of his face and the stern darkness of his eyes and absently wonders why Jay is always so alone.

Realizing the reason is like a punch in the stomach, and then Jay's words reach him and he feels even worse.

"Of everything, Sam. I can't do this anymore."

"I'm so-"

"Fucking _don't_ , Sam." Jay snaps. "You're like a fucking kicked puppy, all big, pitiful eyes. Why don't you grow a pair and talk straight for once? I'm sick of feeling bad for you."

Sam can't help but flinch, Jay's words are starting to hit a little too close to home. There's a slight burning in his throat, and he sits up a little to return his friend's glare.

"Why don't _you_ say what you want, then? If you're so tired of everything, what the hell are you still around for? I know Peter's your charity case or whatever, but someday you're gonna have to accept that he's twenty-fucking-six years old."

"This isn't about Peter," Jay all but growls, surprise coloring his expression for a second before his anger catches up. "It's never about fucking _Peter_."

"Right," Sam says, tone flat. "So tearing me a new one for maybe having had sex with him isn't about Peter. Threatening to punch my face in when I finally did isn't either, is it?"

Jay stares at him, cigarette between his fingers. "No."

Sam scoffs, "All you _care_ about is Peter. How can you say it's never about him when you act like his fucking shadow, trailing behind him everywhere?" The weight of the suit and the heavy coat he didn’t bother to take off is starting to make him shiver for real, goose bumps rise on the back of his neck.

"I don't trail behind fucking Peter, okay?" Jay mutters and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Come on, Jay. I'm there every time. You look after him more than you do yourself."

A muscle in Jay's jaw twitches, and he crushes his cigarette in the ashtray while taking a deep breath though his nose. Sam suddenly feels too hot, even drenched as he is. It's always like this when he feels himself pinned down by Jay's stare. He fidgets slightly, but doesn't drop his eyes.

"What about you then? You don't look after him more than you do yourself? You don't get broken fingers for finishing fights he started? You don't fail exams for letting him talk you into skipping? Your place doesn't get fucking ransacked because he left the keys on the door?"

"That was years ago," Sam replies, but his voice sounds shaky even to himself. "And I never broke any fingers."

"Oh, right, that was _me_ ," Jay barks. "Except it wasn't for Peter, was it?"

"Jay, I'm sorry-"

"Oh, my god, it's like a fucking medical condition, isn't it?" Jay gives a bitter laugh. "Next time you say that I'm leaving."

Sam closes his hands into fists.

"What d'you want me to say then?" He asks in a harsh voice, barely controlling his volume. This is the second time in less than a week that they're making a scene in the same restaurant, but this time he is not the one that's going to storm away. Sam's going to sit through this until Jay decides it's enough.

Jay doesn't answer, and instead reaches for another cigarette, his eyes set on Sam. After a minute, when the tip of it is already burning, Sam speaks up.

"I'm not the one obsessively looking after anybody here, Jay," ha says. He makes sure his voice carries as little heat as he can manage, just so Jay doesn't think he's recriminating anything. He's just saying it as it is. "Just because I tag along…at least I enjoy myself."

Jay's eyes narrow. "I can remember a few times where no one but him enjoyed themselves."

"Well," Sam takes a breath and brushes back off his forehead the short strands of hair dripping onto his nose, "No one forced me."

Jay looks like he wants to argue, but just then the waiter is back and placing two water bottles in front of them.

"I just wanted to apologize for the other day," Sam says as soon as the waiter is gone. "I- I came to you for advice and then I was horrible to you. I just wanted you to know…well, you know."

"I wasn't all that nice either, Sam. But this isn't about that."

"What-"

"I can't stand seeing you throw everything away for him," Jay blurts out and Sam feels his stomach sink. "I can't stand to look at the way you are with him, the way you trip over your feet to please him. I did – _fuck_ – I did everything I could for you. I helped you out in school and I made sure you had a place of your own to live. I fucking helped you get your job and every time you let Peter screw you over I feel like a fucking _idiot_."

Jay is looking down at the table by now, and Sam's eyes are probably about to pop out of his skull. Everything that Jay is saying is true, and yet having it come out of his own lips is making Sam feel like the biggest asshole. Not to count what Jay might have meant every time he was there for Sam (not for Peter, for _Sam_ ), which is making his ears burn.

"But I'm done, Sam. I'm doing the same you do for him, just fucking giving without asking anything in return, and I can't be like that anymore." Jay's cigarette is forgotten on the brim of the ashtray, the beer bottles are sweating onto the table, untouched. Sam has so many questions that he's suddenly tongue-tied. "This is _Peter_ , Sam, and to him a couple of fucks over a weekend don't mean anything, not even if they're with you."

That last statement sends a pang of something through Sam's chest, something like resignation and hurt and anger, all mixed up and painful.

"It fucking hurts to watch, watch you suffer for him like this, man," Jays says and then in a lower voice adds, "It fucking hurts to see you with him."

Sam's has less than a second to swallow _that_ before Jay is word vomiting again, and Sam wants him shut up but he doesn't want him to stop.

"I swear the other day I wanted to kill him. The thing is…if he fucks you over or if he doesn't…either way I don't wanna see it. So I'm backing off. Just don't count on me to cry on if he ends up breaking your heart. Saturday was the last time I let you push me around like a damn idiot."

What the hell is this? Sam never pushed anyone around, and especially not Jay. He wants to argue, say that it's not like that, any of it. But there are too many memories readjusting themselves in his head, he's seeing things like he never did before, and suddenly Peter is not the center of anything.

"What…what the hell does this mean?" He asks, because he needs Jay to say it out loud, not leave Sam wondering. But Jay gives him a cold look and gets up.

"If you can't see that then I guess this was all just a waste of time, wasn't it?" He says and stares down at Sam, frozen in his seat. Jay's eyes go soft for a moment and the tips of his mouth lift a little. "I bet that looked good before you took a bath in it."

Sam takes too long to realize that he's talking about the ruined suit, and by the time he does, Jay is already turning away.

"Just do me a favor and think about what the fuck you're doing," he says as he walks away and then Sam is alone.

\--

Sam tried to shake the hair out of his eyes but it was plastered to his face with sweat and glitter. He didn't know what he had been thinking when he decided he wasn't going to tie it back, even thought it was always a nuisance. He regretted listening to Peter about fashion statements and the advantages of long hair flying loose and wished he'd at least worn a beanie. He was juggling three drinks, half blind among a sea of writhing people when he felt a hand close on his upper arm and stop him from colliding with a particularly enthusiastic dancer. Sam turned and just barely saw Jay's glinting eyes and serious face in front of him.

"'m fucking blind here," he said, aware that he couldn't even hear himself over the music, but still Jay's other hand brushed the sticky locks away and Sam could see again. He smiled over his shoulder. "My hero."

With a roll of his eyes, Jay took one of the drinks and guided Sam back to where Peter was perched against a railing, a bare-chested guy standing too close and talking into his ear. Sam was used to the nasty pull in his chest that came with seeing Sam with other men, and he stumbled towards his friend with a smile he thought was passable enough and shoved a drink between the two men.

"Here," he said and resisted the need to throw an arm around Peter - his days of cock-blocking his friend were over. It only led to Peter being pissed at him for days and it never worked to make him take out his sexual frustrations on Sam, like it was _supposed_ to.

Peter took a sip of the bright green liquid and licked his pretty lips with a slow look up at the stranger in front of him. Sam turned around.

Jay was watching them with his default I'm-super-bored-and-I-don't-know-how-to-have-fun look, his eyes trained on Sam as if warning him not to get in Peter's way. Always the over protective asshole. He was supposed to be looking at the shirtless guy like that, not at him. Sam knew he wasn't allowed to make a move, not only because it would most likely backfire in some way and ruin everything between them, but because Jay would probably bite his head off, too.

An idea popped into Sam's head then, and he gave Jay a smile that, in hindsight, was probably goofy and just plain _drunk_.

It had been two months since Peter had ended up in the hospital and Sam had promised never to drink again. Jay hadn't said a word about it when, after a little over a week, they'd had a _Friends_ marathon in Sam's room and played a drinking game that was basically about taking a shot every time the audience laughed for more than two seconds straight.

Jay hadn't played, but he had been there and he had barricaded the door when Sam and Peter had decided they wanted to go outside and make snow angels on the sidewalk. Sam barely remembered being put to bed after, and hearing Peter singing loudly from somewhere he couldn't see.

He had found him passed out in his closet the following afternoon, and Jay dozing off sitting against the door, in case one of them tried to escape again.

Now, with Jay staring at him with narrow, all-knowing eyes and Peter shamelessly making out with a random guy next to him, Sam was determined to get Jay a little action. Maybe that would loosen the stick up his ass a little.

He said so, loudly and grinning (the part about getting him laid, not the part about the stick) and Jay scowled and darted a glance at Peter. Sam walked over to him, managing not to trip until he was close enough to Jay that the other man could clumsily catch him with his free hand.

"You okay?" He asked, breath warm against Sam's face.

"Don't worry 'bout Pete," Sam mumbled into his friend's neck and he felt Jay sigh.

"I asked if _you_ were okay." Sam was shoved into a standing position and splashed his drink all over his and Jay's fronts. "You drink too fucking much."

Sam had a sudden flash of drunken indignation and he punched out, meaning to get Jay's shoulder but swinging into air instead. He fell forward again.

"You smoke like a fuckin' intus- _industrial_ chimney and you don't hear me giving you hell about it," he said, this time with his face pressed against Jay's chest. There was a pause, and Sam felt a pleasantly cool hand on the back of his neck, under his mess of a hair.

"Maybe I'd like you to." The words rumbled out of Jay's chest, Sam felt them more than he heard them.

"What?"

"Give me hell about it."

"Okay," Sam said and made the effort of looking up at Jay's dark eyes. "Jay, amigo, you gotta quit smoking. You're killing yourself."

Sam thought he saw Jay's lips twitch before a resolute _No_ rumbled against him, "Not good enough."

Sam was sad he had failed.

"Let's sit you down," Jay said after a second, and he hauled Sam back up and dragged him towards a quieter part of the club. There were two big couches tucked into a corner, and Sam let himself fall on one in a heap. He groaned when Jay grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him up, but it was only so he could sit, and a moment later Sam had his head in Jay's lap. "Just…don't throw up on my crotch."

Sam laughed. He wasn't going to throw up, he felt great, but it was nice to lie down for a bit.

"So, about that sex," Sam peered up at his friend and smiled. "See anything you like?"

Jay stared at him and shook his head. "I don't need sex, Sam."

Sam made an incredulous sound at that. _Everybody_ needed sex one way or another.

"Don't need or don't want?"

"Neither," Jay said as his eyes bored into Sam. He was probably watching for signs that he was going to be sick.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Sam insisted and reached for Jay's hand. He lifted it to his own forehead and let it rest there. "Where the hell is my drink?"

"You're done for tonight," Jay grumbled.

"Not fair."

They were quiet for a few minutes, Sam forcing Jay's hand to stay put even though the guy tried to slip it off when he thought Sam wasn't paying attention. Peter was somewhere out there, getting it on with Shirtless Guy but Sam didn't feel too bad about it, he was way too comfortable for that. Besides, Shirtless Moron was going to be gone tomorrow, and Sam was still going have Peter for himself.

"You should hook up tonight," he said just as Jay was plucking off stray strands of hair sticking to Sam's cheeks and eyelashes. "You look good tonight, don't waste it on me."

He was feeling sleepy and not as drunk as a little while before, when all those people were closing in on him and Peter wasn't looking his way. Jay brushed Sam's hair back, a frown on his face.

"So I don't usually look good?" He asked in a flat tone.

"Yeah…no, I don't know." It was Sam's turn to frown. "You look different now."

"Probably too dark to see me properly," Jay offered. "I don't wanna hook up, Sam."

"But you never do when you come along."

"Well, I need to keep you alive, remember?"

Yeah, Sam remembered. He didn't want to think about that, about picking Peter up from the hospital and Jay's face all through the day. Jay's face when Peter did exactly as he had said he would, and told them he wanted to go out the next chance he got. There had been no sign of the smile Sam had seen on Jay the day before.

"You don't have to," Sam said now, with his head on Jay's lap and Jay's hand on his hair. "You never have a good time."

"Sometimes I do," Jay replied, eyes going warm before slipping away and oh, fuck.

Sam had it all backwards all along.

\--

Sam walks back to work in a daze and okay, a little tipsy from trading his and Jay's water for beer. No one seems to notice because no one seems to get over the fact that he's soaking wet and, eventually, Richard tells him to go home before he gets sick.

Sam is grateful and he takes a cab back to his place feeling like his world got turned upside down. He can't wrap his mind around a universe in which Peter isn't someone's everything. Jay's everything.

God, Jay, what the fuck?

Once upstairs all he wants to do is get out of the stupid suit, take a shower and go to bed for, like, a week. Maybe wake up and have things gone back to normal. But today is definitely not his day. Peter is rummaging in his closet when Sam goes into his room. The fact that he's in his underwear barely registers, all Sam can see is that he has his (Jay's) old puffy coat thrown over one shoulder.

"What're you doing with that?" Sam asks and Peter jumps two feet away from him.

"Jesus, you scared the fucking shit outta me!" He practically screams. "What are you…are you okay? You look awful."

Peter eyes him with a worried expression on his face, his eyes going up and down his body. All Sam wants is his stupid coat back in his stupid closet.

"What're you doing with that?" He repeats and Peter looks confused for a second before he follows Sam's line of vision and his eyes land on the coat.

"Oh, I was going out and it's cold," he says with a shrug. " _Are_ you okay?"

"Not that one. Put it back." Sam ignores the question and makes his way around Peter to go to the bathroom. He was hoping to be alone, dammit.

"Why?" He hears Peter ask and he knows that if he doesn't give him some kind of explanation, Peter's going to take the coat anyway.

"Just leave that one alone, okay?" Irritation sneaks into his voice, maybe he even glares at Peter for the first time ever, but he isn't sure because his face has been stuck into the same expression since Jay left him sitting in the restaurant.

"Well, fuck you, too," Peter snaps. "What's your problem?"

Sam's sudden anger deflates, and he sighs before answering, "Nothing, sorry, I'm just tired and…wet."

"Yeah, I see that." Peter's eyes narrow, his hands going to his hips. "Did you fight with Jay?"

Sam's face probably says it all.

"I told you he's got nothing to be mad about; you can damn well fuck whoever the hell you want."

"Yeah, you told me already."

But maybe Sam understands a little better where Jay is coming from, now. Maybe they're more alike than he had thought, only they have different ways of showing how they feel. Maybe where Sam turns into a pushover, Jay turns into a hardass. He just wishes the thought didn't make something warm spread in his stomach.

"Wanna come along?" Peter asks, turning around a diving back into the closet. "Get your mind off things, maybe get some."

Sam has never wanted to go out (or get some) less in his life, but he has to ask anyway.

"I can't get some here?"

His voice is all wrong - somehow the flirty tone fell flat and angry on the way out of his mouth. Peter stands straight and gives him an odd look.

"Not tonight," he says slowly. "I'm getting some somewhere else."

"Right."

It should probably hurt more than it does, but Sam already feels numb. He lets Peter's words wash over him and waits for something, an emotion to spark inside of him, but all he can think of is that Jay was right. Sam should have known, Peter is Peter and Sam, apparently, is no better than a quick fuck in a bathroom stall.

"Just leave the coat where you found it," he says. "I mean it."

And before Peter can reply, Sam locks himself in the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, Sam calls in sick to work.

All of him is sore. Even getting up to pick up the phone has him groaning in pain. Swallowing is particularly excruciating, his throat feels like it's on fire. His face is damp with sweat and he's pretty sure he's been running a fever since he got out of the shower the day before.

Once he's called his office, Sam has half a mind to call Jay, let him know that he won't be there for lunch. He hangs up with a curse, realizing Jay won't be expecting him for lunch anyway. Sam is not even sure Jay would be going to lunch if Sam was at work. He still doesn't know what to think about their last conversation.

Peter is not in the apartment, and Sam searches inside of him for something, maybe a hint of the hurt that failed to show itself the day before, but he's just tired and sick and thinking of Jay and his horrible timing.

He spends the day buried under his bed covers and the puffy coat (Peter threw it across the room before leaving and it landed right on the bed), sweating so much he's sure the dampness soaks through the mattress. He dozes in and out of sleep, dreaming about fucking someone who looks like both Jay and Peter at the same time and keeps asking him over and over again what the fuck he's doing, huh, what?

When it's already dark outside and Sam's headache is a little less blinding, Peter comes back. Sam listens to him moving around the apartment, hears the kitchen cabinets banging and the TV being turned on. He stares at the cheap clock on his bedside table (Felix the Cat's smiling face, Jay gave it to him in college) and counts the minutes until Peter finally appears at his doorway. Rain keeps hitting the window like it's never going to stop, but the noise falls into the background as he waits for Peter to speak.

"Are you done being a bitch now?" Peter's tone is light and non-confrontational, but Sam still tenses as he watches him go into the bathroom. "God, smells like puke in here."

That would be because the first thing Sam did that morning, before calling the office, was throw up all over himself in the bathroom, only half of it making it into the toilet. He had cleaned it up but hadn't had the strength to walk all the way to the laundry room where the ruined suit rests on top of the washing machine, so his filthy shirt is now a sodden heap in the tub.

Sam hears Peter discover it a moment later. " _Shit_. Fuck the rain, I'm opening the window."

Sam feels the cold wind against the little bit of his face that's not under the covers, and he quickly burrows further down, not caring that he's running out of air. He's too sore, too sick and too upset to talk to Peter right now.

"You're sick," Peter says somewhere close to the bed. "You want me to call a doctor?"

"No," Sam replies, voice scratchy, and his throat kills him for a second, burning all the way down to his chest.

"Are you pissed at me?" Peter sounds exasperated, a little closer than before. Sam doesn't answer, mostly because it hurts to speak, but he's still not sure of what he'd say if it didn't. "Because I never promised anything, you know. I never said- It just happened, Sam. I never thought you'd think more of it than…."

He trails off, probably not wanting to say anything _too_ insensitive.

"I think the best we can do's forget about it."

And, okay, that hurts like a son of a bitch, but somehow it's not as bad as Sam had thought it'd be. It's more like a slap in the face than a punch to the gut; it stings but it doesn't make him lose his breath. Sam feels the mattress dip near his legs.

"Sam," Peter calls. "Are you even awake?"

Sam pushes the covers away from his face, feels a cool breeze hit the damp skin again. Peter is sitting at the foot of the bed, looking at him as serious as he can be. He's wearing Sam's clothes, the ones he took from his closet the day before. Most of Peter's belongings are in storage, waiting until Peter decides to get off his ass and look for a place to live. When Sam invited him to stay in his apartment, he told him to bring as little as possible because there wasn't any room and besides, what was Sam's was Peter's.

Peter showed up with a small overnight bag and Chinese takeout, and has been living with him for over a month.

"Whatever it is you want, I probably want the exact opposite," Peter says now, quiet and honest. He has always been straightforward with Sam, so Sam really has no idea how he could have convinced himself that maybe Peter would change for him. "Why would you even want me when you have Jay around anyway?"

Well, for one, Sam was absolutely sure Jay only put up with him for Peter's sake up until yesterday, when he found out it's actually the other way around. So he has never even considered Jay in any sort of aspect beyond plain friendship.

"So he looks like a scary robot, okay. But he's actually nicer than me," Peter goes on, eyes dropping to his lap. "He's always had a thing for you, too."

Sam wants to ask Peter if everyone knew about it before him, or if he talked to Jay sometime between the day before and now, but then he remembers that Peter had already said something like this before. Something about Jay tripping over his own feet trying to get Sam to forgive him that Sam had dismissed at the time, thinking it ridiculous.

"Then again, having a thing for you doesn't give him the right to dictate who you can sleep with. Even if having little ol' me touch you is enough to make him go into serial killer mode."

Sam's head isn't well enough to process all this right now. He's still coming to terms with the fact that Peter's had enough with his dick. He doesn't need more info on how Jay's apparently aching for it and has been for years.

"Look, it really was fun. I like being here and all, but I talked to a few guys from work today and a couple buddies of mine are renting out a room at their place," Peter says this in a rush, not looking up at Sam. "I figured it's about time I get the hell out, you know…. Because this is going to be very awkward once you're back on your feet."

Sam is mostly relieved, but a part of him is going to miss having Peter around. Mostly for how things were before sex was involved, things like having coffee in the kitchen, watching trash TV late at night, both buzzed and comfortable with being tangled together in the couch (the few times Sam could get his mind out of the gutter). He wonders if they're ever going to be like that again and then the little prick of hurt in his chest makes an appearance, finally.

"They're all tragically straight, so…well, it's not like anything like this could happen again." Peter pauses for a second. "Well, it _could_ , but I'm not planning on hitting on anyone I live with for the time being."

Peter looks uncharacteristically awkward in the silence that follows, not looking up from his lap and absently scratching his arm.

"So, what d'you think?" He asks a minute later. "Is it okay, I mean, you'll be okay, right?"

Sam stares at the side of Peter's pretty-boy face, scrunched up in an embarrassed frown, and thinks that this is probably the first time Peter put this much effort in letting someone down easy.

"Sam-"

"You're not that good a lay, Pete," Sam rasps, ignoring the way his throat burns. "I'll get over it."

Sam's almost one-hundred-percent sure he means it.

Peter turns to look at him in mock outrage and slaps Sam's legs over the covers.

"How dare you," he mutters.

"You'll still come over, right?" Sam clears his throat. "Drinking alone's fucking sad."

"Yeah, sure." Peter smiles, small and unsure and makes to get up.

"What Jay didn't want me to tell you’s that, that I loved you," Sam says, sitting up on his elbows.

"Yeah," Peter murmurs, his expression officially uncomfortable. "I figured."

"Yeah, I don't think-” Sam coughs, "I don't think I do, really."

"What I lovely thing to say, Sam," Peter sighs, his smile going a little grim, and crosses his arms over his chest.

"I mean, I do, I just-"

"I get it, and anyway, there'd be something very wrong with you if you did."

Sam sits up all the way, reaching out to grab Peter's shoulder. "Don't fucking say that, Pete."

Peter laughs, a little.

"I mean, I'm not the most lovable person, Sam. I don't want to be." Peter pries Sam's hand away and stands up, brushing imaginary dust from his jeans. "You feeling that way for me, it'd be useless. I'm glad you don't, honest."

"Peter," Sam tries again, his voice catching and causing another coughing fit.

"Ugh, germs." Peter covers his mouth and nose with his hands, taking a step back. "You better not pass any of that to me."

"Peter," Sam says when he manages to control himself, "I do love you, you're my best friend."

"That's sad, Sam," Peter says with a roll of his eyes. "But, yeah, me too. You too."

"I guess I- I wanted you too much, and I felt better if I had nobler reasons or something."

Which Sam can now admit is probably the truth, even if he had to ruin his relationship with Jay to realize it.

Peter nods.

"I totally get that," he says with a smirk. "You're too nice sometimes."

"Not really," Sam replies, now thinking about his conversation with Jay.

"I should go call that buddy of mine, start, you know, getting ready." Peter walks towards the door, and Sam watches him hesitate at the doorway. "You should make up with Jay, he's a wreck."

"What?"

Peter turns to him, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning his hip against the doorframe. "He called me yesterday," he says and Sam feels his stomach sink, suddenly remembering he has a headache. "After I left here. I think he was drunk, anyway, he cursed me to hell and back, basically."

"What…what did he say?" Sam croaks despite himself. He wants to know just as much as he doesn't.

Peter shrugs and says, "He's just pissed at me. Jay called dibs on you a long time ago."

\--

Sam had always been sure Jay's obsession with Peter's wellbeing was just him being overprotective. He had never suspected Jay having any romantic ulterior motives, mostly because he was sure Jay was very, very straight.

When they met, on their first week at college, Jay was still in a steady (though long distance) relationship with his high school girlfriend. About two months later, they had broken up after she had confessed to have slept with someone else. Jay had been spitting fire for a few days.

Later into the semester, he had started dating an English major a couple of years older than them. They lasted a year and finally they'd split up when she was about to graduate.

It was around that time when Sam and Peter convinced Jay to start going out with them, and had started dragging him to clubs and bars and parties where they could get drunk with the knowledge that they had someone who would look after them.

Years passed like this, and Jay continued seeing women and occasionally dating them and always sleeping with them.

Sam had never questioned Jay's sexuality, at least not until the first time he saw him kissing another guy.

The three of them had gone out one night to celebrate Sam's new job, for which Jay had recommended him through someone he knew, and Sam had chosen a gay club because he was over-excited and a little high and he wanted to grind against other men, dammit, because he finally had a job he could brag to people about and he wanted to have some _fun_.

Up until then, they had never forced Jay into a gay club, but neither he nor Peter noticed what little resistance Jay put and how quickly and calmly he'd agreed to go. They had cheered and had another drink and then stumbled away into the night.

There was a line to get in, and the three of them had huddled against a wall for warmth, Sam enjoying having Peter snuggled up against him and Jay's arm around his shoulders, the smell of his ever burning cigarettes oddly comforting. Once inside, Sam had forgotten he had ever been cold in his life, and after half an hour of dancing and jumping inside the big mass of people, he was sweating and out of breath and missing a few items of clothing.

Sam had cut his hair short for the ton of interviews he'd endured in order to get his new job, and he was still getting used to it. At the moment, however, he was pleased that there wasn't any hair sticking to his neck or getting into his mouth.

With his pulse thrumming along with the loud music and his head swimming, he had made his way towards the bar. Jay was there, right where Sam and Peter had left him earlier, guarding their coats and sweaters and drinking something bright green out of a long straw. Sam leaned in to steal some, giving Jay a big smile after tasting his bitter and mercifully cold drink.

"That was gross," he shouted over the music and Jay smiled and took another sip. Sam looked around, leaning into Jay's side. He had lost sight of Peter when they both had raced to the dancing floor, he had slipped away from him, squirming to get in between people and feeling up whoever he could.

Jay tapped his shoulder with his plastic cup, offering him more, and Sam reached out and took the straw between his lips, downing half the drink in one throat-burning gulp. His eyes watered and Jay scolded him ( _That was twenty bucks you just downed like tap water_ ), pinching his side with a frown and finished his drink by himself.

"I'm gonna check on Peter," Sam said later into Jay's ear and dove back into the crowd, refreshed.

He was dancing his way towards the middle of the floor when a hand closed around his arm and stopped him. "Honey," said a lithe guy covered in multicolored glitter, "someone's trying to pick up your boyfriend."

Sam opened his mouth to tell him that Peter wasn't his boyfriend (sure that he had seen them coming in together and now Peter was on top of someone else) when he followed the guy's pointing finger and caught a man attempting to chat Jay up. Sam laughed, surprised, and nodded in thanks to the guy, who shimmied away.

Sam made his way back to the bar, determined to save Jay from unwanted advances when he saw the strange man leaning in. He was expecting Jay to put up his hand and stop him, and was awed when all he saw was Jay returning a kiss, casually leaning into the counter behind him, spreading his legs slightly so the guy could fit between them.

Sam halted in his steps, finding his brain was having trouble starting up again after seeing that, and then rushed over. This was wrong, somewhere in the muddled mess of his thoughts, there was something telling him that Jay wasn't supposed to be kissing anybody at a gay club.

He pushed past people until he reached the couple and called Jay's name. Sam saw him open his eyes and quickly draw away, his back arching over the counter. The other man followed the movement, his hands on Jay's waist and Sam felt something weird coil in his stomach. Jay was so imposing and rough-looking, it was odd to be reminded he had a waist people could put their hands on. And seeing someone bigger than him touching him like that, making him look small in comparison, it made Sam think of him as vulnerable for the first time since he'd known him.

Jay hissed something at the stranger that made him turn around to face Sam, who was standing there like an idiot, just watching his (allegedly straight) friend making out with another man. Said man looked him up and down and released Jay, who was still as far against the counter as he could go without actually sitting on top of it.

"Sorry, man," the guy said, Sam didn't know to whom, and walked away with one last backwards look at Jay.

"So," Jay ran his fingers through his hair, his face slightly flushed, "the cockblocking’s not just for Peter's benefit?"

His tone was awkward and the look he sent Sam was hesitant and wondering, an expression Jay had never used in front of him before.

"No, I…I'm sorry, you just surprised me," Sam tried to explain, watching as Jay's face slowly fell back to its usual blank. "Are you drunk?"

Jay shrugged. "A little."

"I thought-" Sam wasn't sure what he was trying to say. He didn't care that Jay was kissing guys, he cared that he hadn't bothered to tell him that he liked to do it. He cared that maybe, just maybe, Peter might find out and do something about it.

"What?" Jay asked, defensive, just as someone bumped into Sam and he was reminded of where he was.

He noticed the loud music again, and the crowd moving and pulsing behind him. He blinked and his vision went soft around the edges, like his brain had forgotten he was drunk and was knocked back into attention. It made it harder to make sense of Jay and what he had been doing, but also more important than ever to find out.

"Jay." Sam stumbled a bit as he closed the distance between them and put his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Is this you coming out or something?"

Jay looked surprised for a moment before he smiled and said, close to Sam's face, "You're the one always telling me I need to have fun when we go out. And you chose this place, Sammy."

Sam could smell the bitter green drink on Jay's breath, or maybe it was his own, bouncing on Jay's face and making Sam scrunch up his nose.

"I didn't know you liked kissing guys."

"I wasn't sure either," Jay muttered, and even though the music was deafening, he said it so close to Sam that he heard, felt and saw the words spilling out of his mouth. "Isn't Peter always talking about experimenting?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed and then grinned. "Was it awesome?"

Jay stared at him for a moment before shrugging again. "You sort of interrupted before it got interesting."

"You need to try again then," Sam decided. He moved so that he was standing next to Jay, his back against the bar and his arm around his friend's shoulder. "We're gonna find you someone else."

Jay leaned into Sam's side.

"The moment's over," he sighed. "Maybe next time."

And, as much as Sam wanted to be supportive and hook his friend up with a guy so he could discover the joys and wonders of gay sex, he wasn't opposed to waiting. Deep down, the thought of Jay going around _experimenting_ or whatever with random guys didn't sit well with him one bit. They already had one developing nymphomaniac in the group; Jay needed to stay the voice of reason. Or at least their ride home.

"Okay."

Months later, Peter was the one to catch Jay in the act, and Sam internally panicked a little when he found out. He had been thinking about how Jay went out of his way to take care of Peter and was starting to doubt the intention behind it.

"It's just a way to pass the time, Sam," Jay explained, exasperated and sounding a little angry over the phone after Sam had stammered his worries to him. "Believe me, I have no interest in sleeping with Peter, I know where he's been."

Sam's mouth fell open.

"You've been sleeping around with guys?" As far as Sam knew, Jay had done nothing more than make out with a couple, as he waited for him and Peter at different clubs. And for what he saw, Jay wasn't the one starting anything – gay guys seemed to be drawn to him, as if Sam and Peter weren't enough proof of that.

"No," Jay laughed. "My experiments with strange men go only so far."

That didn't ease Sam's mind too much.

"And what about not strange men?" He asked, thinking of Peter. Jay stayed quiet a few seconds too long, enough for Sam to start freaking out again. "Jay?"

"What about them?" Jay asked in return, voice quiet.

"You'd consider, I mean, Peter-"

"Jesus, Sam!" Jay had snapped and Sam jumped, holding the phone away from his ear. "I said I wouldn't touch Peter."

"Right, sorry. It's just-"

"I have to go, see you tonight."

And Jay hung up, leaving Sam spluttering to the dead line. He hadn't brought up the topic of them together again, even if he started noticing more and more how different Jay was around Peter than with him, how much he hovered over the other man, how easily he snapped at Sam every time he did something wrong.

Sam resigned himself to being second in Jay's regard as long as he got to be first in Peter's even if, once and again, it annoyed the living hell out of him.


	7. Chapter 7

Days pass and Sam doesn’t see Jay or Peter for a week. He talks to Peter on the phone, though, and whines about how sick he feels as the other man tells him all about his new roommates’ annoying habits.

Sam doesn’t even hear about Jay until Friday, when Peter calls to tell him about a new club he wants to go to.

“Meet you at eleven?” Peter asks and Sam feels himself go tense. He sits up on the couch, where he had been lying, enjoying the fact that his head didn’t hurt and he could taste food again.

“I don’t know,” he starts. “I don’t-”

“Come on, you just told me you felt better,” Peter pushes.

Yes, Sam feels better. He finally feels good after an entire week of being practically a zombie, sick and sore and, to top it all off, alone. But the last time he spent a Friday night with Peter, things had gone to hell.

And besides, he doesn’t like the thought of going out to have fun knowing Jay isn’t going to be there. Sam doesn’t even think he can have fun knowing that Jay is still mad and that while everything is still far from being fixed between them.

“We could call Jay,” Peter proposes, like he can read Sam’s silence. “Sort of like a peace offering?”

“Not a good idea, Pete,” Sam mutters into the phone.

Sam is not sure Peter can really grasp what went wrong with Jay. He should be able to realize taking him to a club is not going to make things better in the least. In fact, Sam is certain that, in order for Jay to calm down, Peter probably needs to be out of arm’s reach. Not even in sight, actually. At least until he and Sam can talk and…he doesn’t even know. 

But Jay hasn’t called. And Sam used his horrible cold as an excuse not to. And at this rate, they are never going to speak again.

Something cold and ugly twists in his chest at the thought, but Sam shakes it off and returns his attention back to Peter, who’s still trying to convince him to go out.

“Maybe you should go without me,” he says. A second later he realizes that’s the first time he’s said that to Peter. Ever.

And Peter probably realizes it too, because he goes suddenly quiet, his playful begging dying.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay.”

“Or you could stay in,” Sam says quickly. “What’re the guys over there doing?”

“They’re a bunch of geezers, I swear. They’re gonna watch a movie or something, have people over. Who the hell does that on a _Friday night_?”

“Why don’t you stay, too?” Sam asks. He doesn’t really like the idea of Peter going out alone, with no one to keep an eye on him. And even though a part of him is reminding him over and over just how _old_ the guy is, another one is arguing that he has the common sense of a particularly dim teenager. Especially while drunk.

Sam wonders when he started seeing himself as an adult, and figures, now that Jay is not an option, he’s the only one left to think clearly out of their little group. 

And boy, does it suck.

Peter is babbling about going dancing and not being _sixty_ , when the doorbell rings. Sam starts and stands up, wondering if he ordered takeout and forgot about it – everyone that ever comes over usually let themselves in. He’s already opening the door when he remembers the spare key, now hidden in his bedside table drawer.

Peter is still talking in his ear as Sam feels his neck go hot all of a sudden under Jay’s stare.

“Um,” he manages to say. But he’s not sure if he means to talk to Peter or to Jay. Peter doesn’t even pause, and Jay only looks at him, serious and sulky, but apparently not angry anymore. His hair and shoulders are damp – it has been raining on and off for the entire week – and he’s still in his work clothes.

Sam doesn’t know what to do.

“Peter,” he says, watching closely to see Jay’s reaction. Ready to stop him if he turns to leave. But Jay just stands there and waits, his expression not changing. “Do me a favor and watch a movie with your roommates. I have to go.”

“What?” Peter asks, confused at Sam’s tone. “But-”

“We’ll talk later.” And then Sam is hanging up on Peter.

It surely is a week of firsts.

He moves back and waits until Jay is inside to breathe again. Then he closes the door, puts the chain lock in and grips the phone in his hand.

Jay stands in the middle of the untidy living room (Sam’s cold was also an excuse not to clean after himself) looking around and dripping water onto the floor. Sam watches him look at the empty pizza box on the coffee table, the blanket thrown over the couch, a pair of socks he was wearing two days ago, now on the floor.

“You’ve been sick,” he says at last.

“It’s a little chilly to run around under the rain,” Sam replies, trying to sound anything but nervous. He’s almost sure he sounds okay.

“I thought you were avoiding me.” Jay looks over his shoulder at Sam, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Just for the record, me going all sentimental on you doesn’t mean we can’t have lunch anymore.”

Sam walks further into the room and around the couch to set the phone in its cradle, his mind going a mile a minute. Jay had said-

“You said you wanted out.”

And no matter how bad Sam feels, how much he wants to fix everything, he can’t help but sound resentful. Because yes, Sam made mistakes - a lot of them - but he hadn’t _known_ what he’d been doing to Jay.

“You want me to go?” Jay asks after a pause.

“No! No, I just thought- I didn’t think you’d want me to call you.”

They stare at each other from opposite sides of the coffee table. Jay’s damp skin looks pale and he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. Sam knows he’s been stressing over work, this look on him is way too familiar.

“I always want you to call me,” Jay says, quiet but firm and the boldness of the statement makes Sam’s face heat up. “When I said I was tired I didn’t mean I was tired of _you_.”

“You’re tired of Peter.”

“No, I’m not tired of Peter.” And he says it like the name tastes bad in his mouth. Sam scowls and Jay sighs. “I’m tired of what it means to be close to him.”

“What,” Sam snaps because if Jay is making him choose, if he wants Sam to decide between them, he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. Except that it probably won’t be very polite, and he _has_ to keep things civil.

Jay shakes his head.

“I just wanted to check you were still alive. I’ll go.”

“No,” Sam says and takes a step towards him. “I need you to tell me what all of this means.”

“I already told y-”

“No, I need you to _say_ it. I can’t keep guessing.”

Jay’s eyes, dark and determined, meet Sam’s. His mouth thins for a second, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Sam waits as Jay makes up his mind. And then watches as he brushes his hair back and says, “It means I’m a jealous fuck and I can’t stand it when you slobber all over other men.”

Sam’s stomach drops and then his heart is beating practically out of his chest. He had thought about it, he had figured maybe Jay felt like that, but to hear it coming out of his mouth is something else.

“And it means,” Jay goes on, “that ever since the first time Peter scared the shit out of me by collapsing on the fucking street, all I could think about is that if it happened to you and he didn’t find you in time I would kill him.”

Jay’s hands go to his shirt pocket, but he stops himself from grabbing his cigarettes. Instead he runs his fingers down his tie. His eyes stayed glued to Sam.

“And it means I’m in love with you,” he says at last and Sam is officially stunned into silence. “And I’m not saying- You don’t have to say anything back. It was eating at me, if I didn’t say anything the other day I would have snapped. I wouldn’t have been pretty.”

Sam can feel his entire body humming, a weird sort of anxiety buzzing somewhere under his skin. Who knew having someone confessing to you could be so intense. He has no idea what to say, and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is a question. Well, part of one, at least.

“When?”

Jay sighs, his hands curling and uncurling, rubbing at his arms. Sam realizes he’s itching for a cigarette.

“I’m- It’s not important. I’ve always cared about you, shitty friendship choices aside.”

“Jay,” Sam says, in his tone a warning, and Jay rolls his eyes.

“I care about Peter, too,” he mutters. “And I do love him, but every time he acts like an asshole to you-”

“He doesn’t act like an asshole to me.”

“Not on purpose,” Jay points out, and he may have a point, but Sam isn’t going to agree. “I snapped, okay? You caught me off guard and I didn’t know how to react properly.”

It takes Sam a moment to realize Jay is talking about him sleeping with Peter. There’s some guilt now, mixing with all the other contradicting feelings (fulfillment, regret, anger, a bit of leftover lust, maybe) he has about that.

He wonders if he would have done it anyway if he’d known it would hurt Jay.

“Since when, Jay?” Sam asks again.

“Since college, I guess,” Jay shrugs and Sam’s mouth nearly drops open in surprise.

“ _College_?”

Years. It’s been years. Sam needs to sit down.

“Why didn’t you- _College_?” He asks again, dropping onto the couch, looking up at Jay with wide eyes.

“I hated it,” Jay says. “I didn’t want to think about you like that. About men in general, I freaked out at first. Then I sort of got over it.”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ us?”

Jay takes a moment to answer – he looks at Sam with his head tilted slightly sideways. Then he seems to snap out of it and finally reaches for his cigarette pack.

“Because I didn’t want just any guy,” he replies, raising his lighter and flicking it open. “I wanted you.”

It’s like he transforms then. Once the cigarette is lit, it’s like his confidence, that seemed shaky before, is back. Like Jay is back. He looks like himself again, and Sam can see beyond the pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, beyond his rain-soaked hair and clothes.

He’s _Jay_ and he just told Sam he wanted him.

All these years, Sam thinks as Jay blows smoke to the side, all these years that Sam spent pining after Peter, Jay has been pining after Sam.

It dawns on him, really hits him, that every time Jay went out with them, every time he got angry, every time he looked after them, it was for him. Only for Sam.

And the guilt he feels then overwhelms him.

“Jay, I’m _sorry_ ,” he says. Jay grimaces before glaring at him, the cigarette between his lips.

“I told you to stop saying that.”

Sam ignores him.

“You should have told me.”

“Like you told Peter?” Jay snaps, snatching the cigarette away from his mouth. “Why did it take _you_ all these years?”

“I didn’t want-” Sam cuts himself off. And then says, more quietly, “I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Well,” Jay mutters, “neither did I.”

“Jay-”

“Can I take this off?” Jay asks, looking down at his sodden coat. “I’m ruining your floor.”

Sam slumps back as Jay walks to the laundry room and lets out a weary breath. He listens to the rain outside – now probably a drizzle because the sound it makes against the windows is soft – and wonders what’s going to happen next. There’s no way this is going to end well, he knows it. There’s no way he can return Jay’s feeling, because he’s too good for Sam and they both know it. They both know that, even if he does feel bad afterwards and always tries not to, he fucks people over. He just does, it’s in his nature.

Or maybe Peter just rubbed off on him.

He knows that Jay isn’t looking for something casual. Well, actually he’s not sure if Jay is looking for anything at all, but if he is, a fuck probably isn’t it.

Sam’s longest relationship lasted a year and a half, and that was in high school. He’s dated afterwards, but none of the people he’s seen since had liked the way he was about Peter. The only person that has stuck with him despite it is Jay, and even him is finally tired of it.

But other people hadn’t mattered to him the way Jay does. The men in his life had been around for fun, and Jay is fun and infuriating and impossible and amazing and he has kept Sam from ruining his life since the day he met him.

It takes him a while to realize Jay’s been gone for way too long and he doesn’t appear to be coming back.

“Jay,” he calls, sitting up. No one answers.

Sam gets up and walks to the kitchen where he finds Jay’s shoes making a puddle on the tiled floor. Jay has his back to him, leaning his side against the laundry room doorframe. He still has his coat on, and he’s still dripping water around himself. Sam can see the tense set of his shoulders, even as he reaches up to put the cigarette to his mouth and take a drag.

Sam stands behind him for a moment, just watching. What the hell does Jay see in him anyway? He doesn’t understand how someone as down to earth as him could put up with Sam and Peter for so long. Except that he knows Jay is a stubborn bastard and, unlike them, he doesn’t give up that easily.

Seeing Jay miserable makes Sam want to punch something, preferable himself, and he finds his hands are closed into tight fists and he hadn’t realized.

“Hey,” he says and Jay flinches, surprised, and turns around.

He stares at Sam for a moment before sighing and gesturing inside the laundry room. Sam walks over to him and looks over his shoulder, careful not to press into him. The suit is dry and resting on top of the washing machine.

When Jay speaks it’s low and a little bitter, right next to Sam’s ear.

“Every time I say to myself I’ll get over you,” he says, “you go and do stupid shit that makes me fall all over again.” Jay laughs. “It pisses me off.”

And then Jay turns his head a little and kisses him. And because Sam is Sam and he never turns down a chance to get off, not even if he fucks people over by doing it, he kisses back. If this is what Jay wants, he’s going to give it to him.

\--

Sam doesn’t remember very well, but once around the time he had moved into his apartment, during one of the many parties he held there in celebration, he had an odd conversation with Jay.

The details are fuzzy at best, but he does remember clinging to the other man like he always did when he was completely trashed. He remembers resting his forehead on Jay’s shoulder and fisting his shirt in his hands until the room stopped spinning. He’s pretty sure he remembers Jay rubbing his back, his palm warm and soothing, maybe lingering a little in the place where his shirt had ridden up.

“Shit,” Jay had muttered against Sam’s hair.

“What,” Sam had answered.

“You’re trying to kill me.”

Sam had frowned, he was pretty sure he was not, in fact, trying to kill anybody.

“’m not,” he said, his mouth touching Jay’s neck and his friend cursed again. 

Jay had drunk more than usual, Sam had seen him. He usually liked to get a little buzzed and that was it, but tonight he had downed shot after shot, cheered on by everyone in the place.

Sam looked up at him – saw Jay’s flushed cheeks and glimmering, unfocused eyes.

“You’re drunk,” he said, smiling, and Jay scoffed.

“Look who’s talking.”

“You look adorable,” Sam had teased, somehow managing to get the words out correctly in the first try.

“Look who’s talking,” Jay repeated, quieter and looking away.

And then Sam remembers waking up on his couch the next afternoon, Peter passed out in his bed and Jay drinking coffee in the kitchen.

\--

Jay’s lips are cold and his fingers are trembling slightly, framing Sam’s face like he’s going to break if he holds on too tight. Sam doesn’t know what he looks like, because his eyes are screwed shut. He puts his hands on Jay’s chest and hopes he can pass some warmth onto him.

They kiss slowly, tentatively and Sam absolutely hates how wonderful it feels.

If it at least felt wrong, then Sam could draw back and apologize, say that all Jay’s going to get is a kiss. But Sam has always been quick with the physical part of things, and it doesn’t take him long to get aroused. It doesn’t take him long to go and deepen the kiss, to bring Jay a little closer. And the fact that Jay is more than happy to oblige only makes it worse.

Sam knows that he has to stop, that he’s going too fast, that he’s going to regret it as soon as it’s over. He knows Jay doesn’t deserve to do this halfway into the kitchen, still wet from the rain and trembling from it, with Sam still unsure about everything.

And it’s then – not when he got his job, not when he passed his last final at school, not when he felt so ashamed to have taken advantage of someone – it’s when he’s thinking he doesn’t want to do this in the laundry room like he did with Peter. _That’s_ when Sam realizes something ridiculously sappy: Jay makes him want to be a better guy.

No, Jay _forces_ him to try and be a better guy. 

It’s such a cliché thing to think, like something out of a bad romantic comedy, that Sam can’t help but laugh into Jay’s mouth. But it comes out wrong, like a broken whine and it causes Jay to stop and pull back.

“You hate it,” he states like he’s only confirming something he knew all along, and starts to let go. Sam tightens his grip.

“No,” he says. “No, Jay, not at all.”

Jay doesn’t look convinced, and Sam drags him close again, slides his arms around his waist and presses their hips together.

“But- Jay, why d’you want _me_?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jay asks, running his hands through Sam’s short hair, blunt nails scrapping slightly at his skull. And he looks so _sad_.

“Because you fucking deserve better,” Sam snaps but closes the little distance left between them and buries his face in Jay’s neck, hugging him tight.

Jay leaves one hand in Sam’s hair and lowers the other to his back, squeezing in return. Sam has no idea what happened to his cigarette.

“Why do you always put yourself down like that?”

There’s a sudden lump in Sam’s throat, and he has to swallow twice before he can reply.

“Just saying it as it is,” he mumbles. Jay’s hair is dripping on his face but he’s not shivering anymore. He feels warm now, even if he’s still soaked through.

He hugs Sam harder.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he says. “I can’t think of anyone better.”

Sam feels his entire body flush, and it’s his turn to shiver – a quick spasm, like an electric shock running up his spine. He kisses Jay, whom always takes too long to say the right fucking thing but always does in the end, until he runs out of air and has to stop.

“Listen,” he says between gasps, because Jay is running his lips down his jaw to his neck, holding him almost painfully tight. “Listen, don’t…not here.”

_Not now_ , he wants to say, because this could be what Peter did to him. Sam could be doing exactly the same, except it’s different, it isn’t the same at all, and Sam isn’t going to hurt Jay. He is going to hold on and work through it and, and-

And he can’t think straight with Jay’s hands roaming the way they are.

“Wait, wait,” Sam says and pulls back, out of Jay’s grasp. “Wait.”

Jay is breathing so much rougher than Sam’s ever seen him breathe before. Pupils blown wide and a blush high on his cheekbones. It takes all of his self control, not that impressive to begin with, to keep his hands to himself.

“I haven’t- I don’t even,” he starts to say but doesn’t know how to follow up. Jay licks his lips, dark and wet, and nods at him to go on. “I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Something softens in Jay’s eyes, and he gives one of his rare smiles, small and honest. He sighs and runs his hands down his face, letting himself fall back against the doorframe. Sam looks down (he _has_ to) and sees the lost cigarette, peeking out from under Jay’s shoe.

A minute passes before either of them speaks again.

“I’ll lend you some dry clothes,” Sam says, and when Jay nods, he continues. “And then we can watch a movie.”

Jay lets out a breath and Sam gives him a moment to compose, taking the time to calm himself down.

Later, they sit on opposite ends of the couch, a little tense at first, and they watch two full movies together. Sam barely pays attention to the TV, though he keeps his face resolutely turned towards it, and now and then catches Jay looking at him out of the corner of his eye. 

When Peter calls in the middle of the second movie, Sam feels Jay shift next to him. He doesn’t have to look to know what kind of expression he has on.

Sam tells Peter he’s got plans, that they’ll talk tomorrow, and only cares a little that the other man sounds offended when he hangs up. Jay seems more relaxed after the call, though, and Sam thinks that since he still has a lot to make up for, he’d better start now.

And if something happens after he does make up for it, if Jay still wants him then, at least they'll be standing on less shaky ground, and Sam will feel he’s earned the right to reach out across the couch and hold Jay’s hand.

**end.**


End file.
